Cautiously Retold
by ravenclawsserpent
Summary: If things had happened a little differently that night, Snape might have died and the war might not have been won. But they didn't, and Hermione was grateful. Now, all she had left was broken pieces of her old life. Will she cut herself on the pieces trying to fix it or find herself in the ashes of Hogwarts? A/U realistic-ish retelling of how I would have liked the story to end.
1. Chapter One

**Authors Note –**

 **Hi all! Thanks so much for finding the time to read and explore this fantastically weird place where I put the ideas hidden in the deepest recesses of my noggin. (That's brain, by the way.) So, I know I know I know that I'm not supposed to use a chapter for just** a pure **authors note, but before the story starts I just wanted to hop on here and talk author to reader. There's probably a content warning in the bio, but if not, I NEED TO** EMPHAZISE **that this story is my idea of a *realistic** au **retelling* of life for all our HP characters pretty much after Order of the Phoenix. That means I'll be including the darker parts of** war **, including death, blood, pain and** ptsd **-like** behaviour **. I want to also say this fic will discuss other darker subjects, and I'll allude to rape, trauma, abuse,** self harm **and sadder often** stigmatised **topics. So if ANY of these things are going to trigger you, please be CAUTIOUS when you read the fic or stay away from it my darlings. That being said, I'll be trying to handle them in a really tasteful way leading to some good and therapeutic resolution.**

 **Finally, I wanted to point out that this fic will contain a considerable amount of** Ronald-bashing, **and Dumbledore-bashing. Sorry, not sorry. I will** however **say that there is justification in the fic for it, and probably will have some sort of resolution.**  
 **In terms of pairings, you can tell by the tags that this is a Snape/Hermione fanfiction, so obviously it's really going to involve a previous teacher/student fanfiction, so if you don't like that you can go bye-bye. Plus, I'm probably going to involve some Draco/Harry goodness so if you're homophobic, bye.**

 **All joking aside, this is something that has been hidden away inside my crazy little brain for a good number of years and I finally have the time to dedicate myself to giving these characters a proper story. In terms of a disclaimer, ALL fantastical characters in this creation, unless otherwise stated belong to J.K. Rowling, and I'm a (rather rubbish) author, building off of her brilliant and breath-taking story.**

 **PRELUDES -**  
 **(Okay, so I know I said no more author-notes, but this is just a series of little bits to make more sense of where I want to take my AU. Thanks!)**

End of First Year

A small, nervous Hermione stood outside McGonagall's office, her just-a-little-too-big robes pooling around her. Big brown eyes pricked at the corner with tears, and she knocked on the door, hoping if that she knocked quietly enough that the Professor wouldn't hear her, and the awful telling off she was expecting would just go away. Sadly, that didn't happen. The Professor ushered her in, and asked her to take a seat. Hermione gulped. "Is there anything you'd like to say, Miss Granger?"  
Hermione was practically shaking at this point, thinking she was about to be expelled for Harrys Ronalds and her appalling behaviour. 

"Well the thing is Professor, I just want to state that I know that by my count we've broken at least a dozen school rules. I mean, technically we've broken sixteen, which is more than a dozen. I mean, you know that, of course you know that. Well, you know actually Ronald broke six of them, and Harry broke five and I broke five but well Professor you know how bad you-know-who is and by all the things I read and I checked and honestly we wanted to tell you the truth but after we knew how important Harry was to his plan we just wanted to do something to try and stop him." Hermione had only stopped to take a breath, and McGonagall took the opportunity to interject.  
"Miss Granger. You're not in any trouble, nor have I summoned you here to expel you." Hermione's mouth fell open, and she breathed out a sigh of relief. Hermione saw a glimmer in McGonagall's eyes, and instantly felt calmer, and made a mental note to find out of certain types of magic could do that. "Miss Granger, I only asked you to my office to congratulate you, and check in with how you were doing. You did an amazing exemplary thing and it was a brilliant testimony to your house. I'm exceptionally proud of you." Hermione's eyes lit up with joy. "You need to act with more confidence my dear, you're the brightest witch of your year, and you even managed to figure out Professor Snape's riddle." She leant forward conspiratorially, "Professor Binns couldn't even manage that." Hermione grinned.

End of Third Year

"Do it! Go! Now!" Hermione shoved Harry with one hand and stuffed the other into her jeans. On the other side of the door, Snape raised an eyebrow. He was sat, scrawling red ink onto papers with the intellectual value of wet paint. He heard both Harry and Hermione squabbling and squawking but tried to ignore them. Hermione knocked on the door, and without waiting for his reply, open the door and shoved Harry through, slamming it behind him. Snape glared up at him. "Mr Potter. Excellent manners as always." He glared up from his desk, and Harry debated booking it straight out of the room. It was only his Gryffindor courage that kept him paralyzed in fear on the spot. Snape smirked, but Harry interpreted it as a grimacing threat. "I, I just wanted to say, I mean, I just think that" Snape rose both his eyebrows in condescension.  
"Brilliant Gryffindor nobility can't possibly fail you now can it? Though I presume Miss Granger put you up to this, so perhaps your bravery will return in her presence. Miss Granger, why don't you grace us all with your presence, since you seem so involved with what Mr Potter has to say." Hermione slinked in, looking guilty and ashamed.  
"What I'm trying to say, Sir, is that I'm sorry. I've thought that you were in the wrong for so many years, and the past few days have shown me, that you're a very good and, brilliant teacher. I'm sorry for being so, unfair to you. Thank you for what you've done." Harry spat out, trying to hide the contempt seething from him.  
Snape cocked his head to the side, condescension seething from him. 

"Wow, Mr Potter, how brilliant you are. I feel joy ebbing into my very soul. Now that I find myself receiving your apology and gratitude I wonder how my life will ever be the same. How amazing the magic of the boy who lived is." Harry backed away, already regretting everything he'd said and vowing silently to himself to hate Snape for the rest of his life. "Get out, Mr Potter." Harry didn't need telling twice, and turned on his heels, leaving Hermione alone. "You put him up to this?" Hermione nodded, her Gryffindor courage had dissipated, leaving her with nothing but fear and a violent regret that was threatening to cause her to vomit all over the floor. "Whilst I'm sure your intention was noble, not only have you callously overstepped your mark, but you've presumed the impossibility of not only Mr Potters ability to apologise thoughtfully and humbly, but your stupid Gryffindor sentimentality to believe that I would ever appreciate an apology from a dim-witted third year." Hermione nodded and starred at the floor. Snape turned and grabbed a stack of papers from his desk. He passed them to her. "Your advanced papers. Your grades aren't entirely awful, and you've successfully completed most of your advanced O.W.L work."

Sixth Year, Or Alternative to the Half Blood Prince

Hermione let out a deep breath and splashed her face with the cold water from the sink. In the darkness of the prefect's bathroom, and long after curfew, the stress and strain of the past year had finally taken its toll. Gaunt and exhausted, sank down against the cool porcelain. Life had become so complicated, and now the world she held so dear, had been such a vital part of her existence was turning on its head. She was going to fight, that much was clear. However, for once, no matter how she thought about it, what she tried to process, she found that she didn't know the outcome. Would she survive? Would Harry? Would Ron? Hermione tried to think, to be objective and rational and smart but there was too much at stake. Harry had too much resting on his shoulders, and Ron was too infatuated with Lavender. She pushed away the bitter anger she felt at Ron for being with someone who had been so mean to her for so many years, and rubbed her deep set, sallow eyes. Her cream jumper fell off her shoulders, exposing her fail frame. She'd lost weight, forgetting to eat, spending late nights in the library, getting ready to fight. Hermione was tired and couldn't summon the energy to leave. Hearing someone coming, she raised her eyes to the door, and clambered, rather inelegantly up. Pansy Parkinson, and Jessica Dolohov. Hermione tried to cast a illusion charm, to hide from them and leave as quietly as possible, but they spotted her before she could. "Expelliarmus!" Parkinson caught Hermione's wand in the air, and sneered at her. "Poor little mudblood, out after dark!" Her high pitched whining seemed to reverberate off the walls, and Hermione couldn't help but wince at the term mudblood. Both girls seemed to be drunk, and Hermione suspected that they'd been to yet another Slytherin rave in the forbidden forest. Even the Slytherins were stressed over the knowledge of the dark lords return, and were acting out recklessly. "Pansy, just give it back. We don't have to do this." Hermione tried to sound strong, but she knew she wouldn't be a match for the two girls, especially without a wand. Jessica ran up to her and slapped her. Hermione shrunk against the force of Jessica Dolohov. She was a big girl, and Hermione seemed to bend like a tree in the wind. 

"Why should she? We're all just a little bit sick of little miss golden trio, always being so much fucking smarter than the rest of us. Why don't you shut the fuck up for once Granger, and suck it the fuck up." Shit. Hermione knew the girls were drunk. But she didn't think they'd go this far.  
"Jessica, Pansy. Please. I know you hate me but just give me my wand back, you don't have to do this. I'll just leave and I wont tell anyone."  
"Alarte Ascendare!" Hermione barely had time to look at Pansy before she was blasted into the air, her back hitting the ceiling and her face smashing against the tile floor. She felt the blood ebbing out of her face but couldn't feel it hurting. Not yet. She tried to talk, but only gurgles and gasps came out.  
"Poor little fucking Granger." Hermione was aware of Pansy walking around her, and from her limited vision, she could see Jessica in front of her. "She'll be dead by the end of the night, when the Dark Lord has finished his work." Jessica Dolohov laughed, and kicked Hermione in the stomach. She wretched, but nothing came out. Pansy laughed, high pitched and maniacal. 

"And the stupid little mudblood, spend the last six years being a complete abomination to our kind and our people, parading around her intelligence like it was something special, will be less than a footnote." Pansy hit her with another spell as she said this, Hermione didn't know what it was, but could feel the burning and slicing beginning on her body. She was encompassed in fear and pain.  
"Let's go. We have work to do." With a pop, they apparated away, leaving Hermione's wand sadistically just out of reach. Still gasping for air, she knew this meant something was very bad, and very wrong. Student's couldn't apparate in and out of Hogwarts, and what work was the dark lord doing tonight? Attempting to role onto her stomach, and crawl to her wand, blistering and continuing pain radiated out from her. She thought a pipe must have burst, or the sink overflown, as she felt so wet, her clothes soaking around her. When she looked down, through the haze of pain and tears, her cream sweater was stained. Crimson. Taking time to catch her breath, Hermione didn't know if seconds, minutes or hours had passed when she heard someone storming into the bathrooms.  
"What the fuck? Granger?" Damnit. Malfoy. Perhaps he'd come to finish the job, perhaps he'd do it quickly. Hermione was in the mood for small mercy's. Trying to cry out again, her screams came out as a baby whisper. 

"Draco, please." She looked up, and from the mix of fear and revolution on his face, she knew she must have looked bad. Thankfully, he didn't seem to be alone.  
"You've got to listen to me Malfoy, I can help you! You're going too far, and I know you didn't want to do it! I saw it in your face! Oh my God! Hermione! What the fuck did you do to her?" Harry ran to Hermione's side, and ran to his wand against her. The splicing pain started to stop, replaced by a soothing coolness. He looked up at Draco. "Get some fucking help Malfoy, I don't know what the fuck's happened to her." Draco was stood, motionless. He was staring down at the crimson pooling around her. It wasn't dirty, it wasn't black or dark brown. It was red. It was just blood. He knew the "mudblood" argument was about more than literal blood, but he was struck by how normal, and clean and safe she looked. The night had just been too much. After his failure to kill Dumbledore, he'd just ran, not even sure where he was going or knowing that Potter had followed him. He guessed that Snape had gone through with it, a darkness had fallen around Hogwarts, and he knew that Dumbledore was dead. The war had begun. He felt sick. He turned, and expelled the contents of his stomach. Hermione was still gasping for breath, and Harrys spells were coming to the end of their usefulness, and her injuries were returning. It seemed his healing had only worked temporarily. 

"Malfoy, we need to go, now." It wasn't a question. Snape's looming form came out of no-where, popping up behind Malfoy, and stopped to look at Miss Granger. Wordlessly, he was at her side. Snape pushed Harry away, ignoring his screams and accusations. He ran his wand over her, and cradled her head with his other hand. She healed, slowly, but quicker than she would have if Harry continued with his ham fisted attempts. She gasped for air and tried to push herself up into a sitting position. Snape was still holding onto her, and stared intently into her eyes for what seemed like an eternity. It was mere seconds in reality, and before she knew it, he'd broken contact. Harry threw a half-hearted curse at him, tears of anger rolling down his cheeks, but he blocked it, and stepping over the vomit, apparated away, dragging Draco with him by his shirt collar. Hermione steadied herself, glancing down at her jumper. It was still stained, but she was perfectly healed. That was how she felt on the inside too. She'd never let Harry or Ron know, not until they needed to, but in those moments she held Snape's gaze, he'd imparted vital information with her, throwing what the golden trio needed to know to win the war into her. She stood up, and began making a list in her head of everything they needed to do. Harry tried to stop her.  
"Mione, you can't! You've just been hurt, you need to rest, who did this? I'll kill them!" 

She turned to him, and grabbed his face in her hands.  
Harry, we haven't got time for this. We need to leave, and we need to leave now. The war has started and Dumbledore is dead. We don't have a lot of time before Hogwarts isn't safe anymore. Get Ron and meet me by the tree where you first met you know who in the forbidden forrest in fifteen minutes. Do you understand?" Harry nodded, and she let him go

"But where are you going? Shouldn't we stick together?" She turned to him before leaving the bathroom.  
"Never mind that! I'm just going to get somethings we're going to need. Just get Ronald and meet me!" She didn't stop to hear his reply, instead running as fast as her legs would carry her to the restricted section in the Library. Hidden about six months ago, and only accessible by the tapping and moving of a string of books, Hermione had packed all the essentials she thought they might need. She drew a deep breath, joints and brain still aching from all her body had gone through. Processing everything made her head spin. She knew that information from one wizard could be shared to the next through a kind of reverse legilimency, but she thought that it was incredibly difficult and rare. Snape was an incredible wizard, this much was undeniably true, but he'd done it with such skill, without even seemingly batting an eye.  
He'd given her so much information, from locations of three horcruxes, to how much Draco was really unwilling to be a part of the Death Eaters. She sobbed when she thought over the truth he shared of Harrys destiny. He'd given her enough information to trust him, and in truth, she did anyway. If Dumbledore trusted him, so did she. But why her? Why would Snape trust her of all people? What was he hiding? Why did he share those memories of his childhood? So she'd trust him? But did he trust her? He must trust her enough to know she wouldn't humiliate him to Ron or Harry. Pushing her questions away, and wiping her tears, she slung her bag over her bag, and apparated into the night.


	2. Chapter Two

Hermione would remember that night forever. Forever etched into his brain was the memory of violently vomiting in the forbidden forest after everyone had fallen asleep. Cold and alone, pulling memories from her painful and still throbbing head, examining each one carefully in her travelling pensive. Methodically, she extracted the most information she could from each memory she gave him, a singular point forever captured inside the confines of two brilliant minds.

From the quick spliced collections of his memories, it took her a relatively short amount of time to realise he'd been on their side all along. The adamantly faithful third year in her was silently vindicated. Something changed, silently, yet irrevocably inside of her. It was relatively quick and easy for her to figure out Snape's plans, and why it was so vital for him to play the evil villain. It was hard for her to imagine how he could do it, pretending, day in and day out. It occurred to her that she would have to do this now. She wouldn't betray his secret, and she knew that he would abhor it. Plus, it occurred to her that he hadn't confided in her out of friendliness or a sense of kinship, she was nothing but a mere necessity facilitated by the impending vulgarity of war. She didn't know why, but that night, against the stormy façade of England's countryside, Hermione Jean Granger found comfort for the first time in the memory of Severus Snape.

Now, the violence of war surrounded the Golden Trio, and Hermione pushed everything from her mind but a series of spells, jinxes and hexes. She knew this was the final battle, and everything would come down to her and her allies' ability to outwit the enemy. Cautious, but unforgiving, she sent bolts of light from her wand in every direction needed, defending herself from more than a few jets of green. She suspected a rather large bounty must have been put on her head, for more than once a greedy, yet dim-witted faceless death eater had attempted to come straight for her, only to be silenced and fall to the ground with a thud. She only stunned them, putting them out of action until it was over. She wasn't callous enough to kill, not unless she really needed to, and if they won then she'd make sure they all got justice, even if that meant the dementors kiss. Ron and Harry had gone, looking in the abandoned chamber for more basilisk venom to destroy the remaining two horcruxes.

Three. She corrected herself, and guilt rose from her, hating herself from keeping the truth about Harry's scar from him for so long. That would all be over tonight. Sending out another yellow jet, her attention was grabbed by the screaming of Lavender. She couldn't find her, the noise was so distracting, and she couldn't single her out in the crowds of fighting robes and falling rubble. It was only when she saw Fenrir Greyback hunched over on the steps of what used to be the east wing entrance, that she saw the frail frame of Lavender scrunched underneath him. She'd stopped screaming. Hermione fought the urge to vomit again. Knowing she wasn't a match for Fenrir, she tried to stun him from behind, only for him to deflect it and start throwing unforgivables at her. She wasn't a match for him, and running every possibility through her head, Hermione was left with only one choice.

"Avada Kedavra." The words didn't leave her lips easily, and honestly, she didn't think she'd have enough power or hatred for it to work. He fell to the ground with a thud. Hollow. She ran to Lavenders side and wretched, dry heaving at the disgusting sight. What once had been an undeniably pretty face seemed to be sunken in, bloody and distorted. Hermione couldn't even see Lavenders eyes, her face seemed swollen shut at the most unfortunate and revolting angles. Running a few spells to see if there was any other damage, Hermione worked quickly to save Lavender, even if she couldn't repair the aesthetic appeal she'd once had. She healed Lavenders face partially until it revealed Fenir's bite marks. Hermione knew better than to attempt to heal Werewolf bites. She cleansed her quickly and was about to levitate her away to safety when a burning hex spread over her back.

Unintentionally, she threw herself over Lavender, as to shield her from whoever attacked. Screaming in agony, the deep, guttural chuckle of Gregory Goyle was barely heard, but Hermione knew it was him. She'd learnt well enough he wasn't too bright but unfortunately talented when it came to hurting others. Kicking her over, Goyle stamped on her hand so she couldn't use her wand and laughed again.

"Pretty little mud blood, aint ya? I guess I'll leave you alive and see what you can do. Maybe they'll find a little place for ya in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, and I'll come visit you every now and then. Guess I'll find out if mud bloods do make your di-" From behind, he was hit with another killing curse. Though she could barely see through the blistering pain, and the sun was in her eyes, she'd recognise the white-blonde silhouette of Draco Malfoy anywhere. She summoned all her energy and scoffed at him.  
"Well if that's how you greet your knight in shining armour, I can always find another fair maiden." Draco pulled her up, and smirked, wiping sweat from his forehead and somehow running his hand through his hair at the same time.

It was an unusual friendship she'd found with Draco. After the events in the prefect bathroom, Draco went through a cataclysmic change, which was basically a very Malfoy-like way of saying he'd had a mental breakdown. After nights of pacing the halls of Malfoy Manor, blasting several enchanted family paintings of muggle and muggle-born torture into pieces, and questioning everything he'd ever held dear, including his very existence, he had concluded that not only was his heart not in the Dark Lord's cause, but that he was actively against it. Seeing Hermione's blood, so red and, well pure, and the twisted grimace of pain on her face, proved that thinking being a pureblood was anything special was somewhat dim-witted and short sighted.

Early December, after one night of disgusting revels, a very drunk and traumatised Draco sought out the company of the only person he thought he could trust. Snape. Since then, he'd been working in a similar capacity as Snape, a student could see far more of the inner workings of Hogwarts than the head-master could, and who would have ever thought that the Prince of Slytherin, pureblood supreme, son of Lucius Malfoy would ever be part of the resistance to bring the war to the end.

On Christmas Eve, just outside of the protective wards, an albino raven found a certain bushy haired know it all. Hermione wasn't sure what she found more unreasonable. The fact that Draco Malfoy had suddenly seen sense, of that it took her an hour to decode the secret messages in his letters. She'd never give him the satisfaction of the latter. She didn't know why, or how her of all people had become some sort of conduit and confidante for two double-agents. Objectively speaking, it was probably because she was a muggle-born. If they won the war, no one would doubt the testimony of muggle born Hermione Granger, best friend of Harry Potter.

Draco ran his infuriatingly still manicured hand over Hermione's back, and the burning of the hex dissipated into an uncomfortable warmth.

"There. It won't fix the issue, but it'll do for now."

"Wow Malfoy, wandless magic? Keep it going at this rate and you might be able to hold your own against a third year!" Malfoy scoffed. He wondered how Hermione's Gryffindor bravery had translated itself into a Slytherin like sarcasm, but they'd all gone through changes.

"Merlin." He bent down next to Lavender, and brushed a long of matted hair away from her swollen eye.

"I put her in a stasis charm, and I tried to clean her up and fix the best I could, but in this atmosphere, without access to potions or even knowing what he did to her.." Draco silenced her.

"You did good, Granger." She nodded, and he rubbed away a stray tear from her cheek.

"Can you take her? I need to find Harry and Ron, they should be back by now." Draco nodded. Before he even had time to ask, she added, "There's a makeshift infirmary in Detention Holding, the password is Flubberworms, though I'd suggest taking off that cloak before you go in." Draco was still wearing a black death eater robe. He nodded, and without as much as a goodbye, they were gone.

A darkness fell across Hogwarts, and screams seemed to reverberate across the sky. In the air, dashes of light, all different colours were accompanied by plumes of smoke, falling rubble and the haunting sight of falling bodies. Choking on a sob, Hermione knew. The onslaught at the Viaduct had begun. She needed to find Harry and Ron.

An hour later, Harry swore it was deja vu all over again, as he found himself, with Hermione and Ron, arguing in the Gryffindor common room. He didn't want to do what Hermione was suggesting, but he knew deep down that it was the smartest option. Ron however, was flat out refusing to listen to reason.  
"He's not doing it Hermione! You have no idea what it could do to him, or what You Know Who could use it to do! I'm not losing another brother!" Hermione was furious, heartbroken and confused. They all were. The image of Fred, lifeless, broken, was forever etched into all of them. Ron, obviously, was still highly charged, and he couldn't find it in himself to grieve, not yet. Not until he knew if he'd have to grieve for other siblings. He couldn't let himself feel this, because he knew if he did, he'd never stop. Hermione put her arms around Ron. He let himself cry silently into her hair.

"He might not have been our brother, but he was our family." He pushed Hermione away, full of misplaced anger.

"Brother? Family? What the fuck does either of you know? You chose to leave your parents Hermione, and they don't have a clue who you are! Harry's parents are dead! He was too young, and you chose this! Fred didn't choose to leave me! He didn't want this!" He knew as soon as he said it that he was cutting Hermione deep, but the loss of Fred was too much to bear. He didn't mean it, of course he didn't mean it, he loved her, and he never wanted to hurt her.

Their attention was taken, however, by Harry screaming in pain. He'd delved into Voldemort's mind, to pre-empt his next move. Sick, revulsed and angered by their dead, they were in the common room arguing about the best way to bring the battle to him, and to finish it with him dead. He was clutching to the couch, falling, and Ron caught him and settled him on the couch.

"Look what you made him do!" Ron yelled, and Hermione stepped away from the two, feeling too much at once for her thoughts to make sense.  
"Shut up Ron," said Harry, coming around to base consciousness.  
"Are you okay Harry?" Hermione's voice was timid and afraid.

"You were right, I don't think he knows I was there, but he's suffering, I can feel his pain." Ron scoffed, "Don't Ron. I know where he is. I can see what he's going. He only thinks this connection works one way. He's in the boathouse, and he's asked Lucius Malfoy to find Snape, he wants to talk to him. I think he's gonna kill him." Hermione's blood ran cold. She didn't want Snape to die, but she didn't have time to tell either of them everything she knew, and she knew they'd not believe her even if she could.  
"So? Let the fucking bastard die, you heard what he let happen! You saw what happened to Ginny! He killed Dumbledore." Ron's disgust was evident, and Hermione recoiled unintentionally.

"He won't be expecting me to go there! I'm going to go and I'm going to kill him!" He shared a glance with Hermione. "No, 'Mione. You're not coming!"  
"We're not going to let you go alone!" Hermione looked at Ron, but he averted his gaze, looking intently at the rugged, foot worn rugs.  
Harry and Hermione left for the boathouse, apparating a safe distance away, hiding under the cloak.

It wasn't that Ron was being a coward, he claimed, though secretly Harry thought it was. Harry understood though, after everything with Fred, and the state of the fighting in the Great Hall, he said he'd wanted to stay and protect his family. They stopped behind a large, suspiciously sentient looking oak tree about twenty feet away from the boathouse. Harry suggested that they hide behind one of the boats, slipping in under the lake, and attack him from there.

"No. You need to stay outside Harry. If he senses your scar, or who knows, the creep might smell it, you'll be done for before you can raise your wand. We wait until we know why he wants Snape, then we go from there." That was true, she needed to keep Harry safe, but she wanted to buy herself some time with the Professor too.

The boathouse was cold. Freezing. It felt empty, and she could hear their breathing. Rationally, the cold was her soaking clothes, but the ice was fear, radiating out from Voldemort, into every synapse. Hidden by the cloak, masked by undetectable charms, she still could have sworn Snape looked her directly in the eye.

From where she hid, Snape faced her, but Voldemort had his back to her, and she held her breath every time Nagini moved. She wasn't the strong brave woman she tried to convince herself she was anymore, simply being in the presence of him, being so close to the man who had done so much evil, committed too many depraved acts to count, paralysed her. She was a scared first year again, tiny and obsolete, facing the maniacal demon of her nightmares.  
She listened, intently to the conversation.

"The battle is almost over my lord, victory will be yours by sunrise." Snape didn't miss a beat, skip a breath, or betray any emotion. In an objective setting, it would be fascinating to watch, but this was anything but objective.

"Really, Severus? My Death Eaters have failed me, so many bested by nothing but students and half-bloods." The revulsion was clear in his voice, and Snape didn't comment. He simply bowed his head in agreement.

"You called for me, personally, my Lord?" Snape knew better than to try to buy for time, Voldemort rarely had time for any social niceties.

"Severus." Voldemort took his wand from his pocket and held it up, between them. "This wand has yet to live up to its reputation, for me. Why do you think that is? I'm a skilled wizard, am I not?" He asked.

"The best, my Lord." There was no ass kissing or adoration in his voice. It sounded believable. His composure never broke, though his heart sank. He knew where this was heading. He readied himself for the inevitable.

"You've served me well, Severus. You've been a faithful servant, even killing Albus Dumbledore. It pains me for what I must do. We both know Severus. This wand isn't mine. I didn't kill Albus. You did." Hermione frowned. Everything that she'd read, and everything she'd seen that night, after Harry let her into his memories to practice Occlumency, contested Voldemort. That wand didn't belong to Snape, it belonged to Draco. Why wasn't he correcting him? Fear ran through her again, and she had to hold her breath to stop herself from retching as Nagini slipped between Voldemort's legs, advancing slowly towards Snape. Then she understood. He was protecting Draco. He wouldn't let Draco die just to save himself. He made no comment, instead, bowing his head in agreement.

"It pains me that your usefulness has come to an end. However, I'm glad I'm the one to do it Severus. War never did suit you." Voldemort put the wand back in his pocket, and turned his back upon Severus Snape, for what he thought would be the final time. Hermione's eyes widened in fear, as she knew what was coming.

"Eat, Nagini."

The snake lunged at his neck, hissing and striking again and again until the small room stank of blood and sweat. Snape didn't speak, scream or cry, though it was possible he couldn't even if he'd wanted to. Snape just fell, against the glass, crumpling on the floor. The man she spent years thinking was impenetrable and stoic fell, human, blood pooling around him.

As soon as Voldemort apparated away with Nagini, Snape's blood on his hands, Hermione threw the cloak off her and ran to his side.

"Harry! I need you! Help me Harry please God Harry!" Hermione was shaking but her hands were on Snape's neck, trying to stop the bleeding. She was sobbing, and she didn't know it.

"Fuck." Harry didn't know what to do or say. The man he hated was dying in front of him. "I hate you." He said to Snape, but he didn't sound like he meant it anymore.  
It was then, Snape's eyes rose and met Harry's.

"Take them." As Snape breathed out, the silvery metallic film he recognised as memories poured out of his mouth. Harry complied. He crouched next to him, and Hermione was still frantically trying to stop the bleeding.

"Don't just stand there Harry, get my fucking bag!" Harry summoned Hermione's bag, and passed it to her.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked. He was still in shock, and rather ineffective.

"I have to save him, I have to save him, I can't just let him die like this. Not here, not like this."

"He was bitten by Nagini, we can't fix that." Harry clearly had a habit of stating the obvious in times like these. Truthfully, all he could really think about was that he was sick of having 'times like these.'

"Not true. I took the liberty of brewing some anti-venom to Nagini's poison a while ago, in case anyone was attacked, and if it works and I can stop the bleeding then he stands a chance." Harry was pulled out of his trance.

"How did you manage that?" He asked, finally making himself useful and keeping pressure on Snape's wound.

"I didn't. Snape did. When we had to leave that night, I snuck back into the restricted section and took his copy of advanced potion making. He had a theory for brewing specific healing potions targeted at venomous substrates, and I simply modified it. Yes Harry, he's the half blood prince. Though honestly, I don't know how it never occurred to you before, you've been staring at his handwriting for years." Hermione didn't bother looking at Harry, instead focused solely on pouring potions and dragging her wand across Snape's neck. His eyes were open, but she didn't even know if he was conscious.  
Harry pulled his hands away from Snape like he was touching fire.

"But why him? Why him Hermione? Just let him fucking die! I'd have killed him if I had the chance. I hate you, I fucking hate you!" He targeted his words at Snape now, as if his tongue shot daggers into the Professor. Snape looked at Harry, and summoning the last pieces of energy he could, answered.

"I know." Even inches from death, the Professors voice was still like velvet, albeit a rather crumpled, dirty piece. Hermione slipped another potion through his lips, and he didn't hesitate. He drank it down. He was too exhausted, too pained and too confused to do anything else. Finally, as he closed his eyes, Hermione turned to Harry.

"Things aren't always as they seem Harry! I can't explain everything now, but trust me, I'm not just trying to fix him because he used to be my teacher. I know what I'm doing, and I know why I'm doing it. Don't focus on me or him right now. I'll explain later. Just take his memories, Dumbledore's pensive. Find out what you need to know, see what you need to see and do what needs to be done." Harry didn't move. "Harry! Go! You don't have time to hate him right now."

"I'm not leaving you alone with him."

"Like he could do any damage to me in the state he's in. Go Harry. You're the boy who lived for a reason."

Once he apparated away with a pop, Hermione continued her work on the Professor. Her tears flowed freely, angry and confused at the man who had given her just enough information to go on, but no explanation. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she sat back and took a breath. It wasn't elegant magic, that much was certain, but even though her hands were caked in his blood, and he hadn't regained consciousness, she knew she had done enough.

He would live.


	3. Chapter Three

**Authors note - Hey guys, I just wanted to say I've taken in the feedback and have been working on the formatting of this chapter, and I hope it's not too smushed up for you. As always, please leave a review of what you thought! Enjoy!**

Inside of his mind, Severus Snape was working hard to shut existence out. The pain of being bitten, the fear of death, however pathetic he thought fearing the inevitable was, encompassed him, like being lit on fire and dunked into ice at the same time.

Inside his mind, he ran from it, and lapsing in and out of consciousness like the hangman cutting a noose at the final moment. Everything after Nagini striked out seemed like a dream. He could feel a woman's hands on him, which was rather confusing considering he knew he was heading straight for hell. When he opened his eyes again, James Potter. That was more like it. Only it wasn't, he had Lily's eyes. Harry Potter. Harry told him he hated him. If he'd been himself, the fake death eater or the tortured double spy, some snarky comment, a raised eyebrow or a cutting jab would have put Harry in his place.

But he wasn't. He was dying, and quickly, if there was any mercy left in the world.

The next time he opened his eyes, Harry was gone. He thought he heard voices, and could still feel the warm, soft hands of a woman against him, but the way she touched him, the sensations in his neck and cool glass against his mouth, it couldn't be real. It wasn't real. It was too kind.

Besides, he'd only seen Potter and he knew the bastard boy who lived would have done nothing to save him, even if he could he wouldn't and would be in the position to kick him whilst he was down. He saw no woman, but the hands, the scent of perfume and shampoo, mixed with copper blood and salt sweat, made him think he'd been touched by a ghost.

Whilst Snape was shutting out his emotions, his feelings, and sensations, Harry was feeling everything, all too much, and actively lapping up every ounce of detail from the memories he'd been given. After fighting his way through the castle, he made his way to Dumbledore's office. It would always be Dumbledore's, no matter who defiled or occupied it. Relatively little had changed, though Harry could feel the dark magic that had been there.

The first memory he'd seen was of his mother, and Harry burst into hysterics. She was a little child, innocent, happy, in a blue sundress with daisies on it. She was sat cross-legged on the ground making daisies open up and close. Harry remembered the first time he did magic, trapping Dudley.  
He watched more memories, splinched together like a movie. He watched his mother grow, he watched Snape with her. They were friends. His face wasn't tired, but smooth and excited. Innocent.

Harry saw Snape's childhood, beaten, broken and abused by his father. Harry met his own father in pieces, he was ashamed to admit that other memories of him were all too alike to that he'd seen before, when he hung Snape upside down.

In seconds, the laughing, happy pictures of his family were gone. They were dead on the floor, Snape fell to his knees, screaming and crying. Parts of the night that changed him forever, the things he'd been told were then juxtaposed with the truth.

He watched as Snape raised him from the crib, and soothed him until Hagrid came, taking him away. He saw Snape bargaining with Dumbledore, clearly grieving for Lily and yet still begging for forgiveness. Dumbledore, confusingly, wasn't kind. He let Snape suffer. He watched as Snape left that night, haunted and sallow.

His childhood was then played back to him, whilst Dumbledore and Snape talked over, and the truth was spilling out before him.

"He doesn't need protection, the Dark Lord is gone." The disembodied voice of Snape spoke. Snape counter-cursed a sniveling Quirell, trying desperately to stop Harry nosediving into the ground.

"Don't be stupid Severus! We both know he's alive, out there! He survived and when he returns, Potter will need someone to protect him." Snape's descent into the Whomping Willow played out, and later, Harry watched as Snape threw himself over Hermione, Ron and Harry when Lupin turned. He never noticed that before.

"You could do a perfectly good job Albus! Why me? Why damn me to a lifetime of having my greatest mistakes played out in front of me!" He could hear the contempt in Snape's voice, imagining the crooked scowl that oft accompanied it.

The conversation between the two men stopped as Harry watched Hermione, in the fourth year approaching Snape. He recognised that night, it was just before the Yule Ball.  
"Professor? I need to talk to you." Snape didn't look up from his work.

"Oh Miss Granger, thank Merlin. I'd nearly gone an entire day without the high-pitched intrusion of a bushy-haired know it all. It must be truly exhausting being the smartest witch of your age."

Hermione ignored him.

"Harry told me what you said about the Polyjuice Potion."

"Oh, and Miss Gryffindor supremacy has come to save the day and throw herself on her sword? You must be truly noble." His voice was dripping vitriol, but Hermione didn't even flinch.

"Professor Snape, if someone is brewing Polyjuice Potion, it's not us." Snape put his quill down and looked up.

"Why should I believe you?"

"Professor, I know you think I'm a sanctimonious git, and believe me, so does the rest of my year, but you know as well as I do that Harry hasn't got the capability to brew Polyjuice by himself. I managed it in the second year, and I thought you should know. Whoever is stealing your stock and pretending to be someone else, it's not me."

Snape delved into Hermione's mind without a second thought but was delicate enough for her to go unaware. Shit. Someone in Hogwarts wasn't who they said they were. He needed to get Albus.

"You may go, Miss Granger."

The conversation between Albus and Severus resumed as more images scattered themselves in front of Harry.  
"That is your fate, Severus. You made these mistakes. As the muggles may say, you made your bed, you may lie in it."

He saw Snape's attempts to stop Umbridge, and his work to save Mr. Weasley when he was attacked.  
"No one. No one can ever know."

Images flashed before him, quicker and quicker and he knew he was being shown the passage of time, nights turned into weeks, and weeks turned to months. Since Voldemort's return, Snape had been spying, working beside Voldemort, and then behind the scenes, feeding information to Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. Snape was never truly a death eater, not now. He was still Dumbledore's.

In another moment, Harry fell to his knees and screamed as Dumbledore put on the cursed ring, pain from one Horcrux to the next resonating from time and space.  
"You have to be the one, Severus." It was a late night, they were in Dumbledore's study, and Snape was trying to fix the curse, containing it to Dumbledore's hand.

"Don't be stupid Albus, you're not going to die." Albus pulled his hand away, and gestured for Snape to take a seat.

"Severus. You've been a loyal, albeit condescending friend and ally. Don't mollycoddle me."  
Snape ran a hand through his greasy hair.

"I can contain the curse, but it's not going to last forever. It will spread, and you will deteriorate."

"How long?"

"We don't need to – "

"HOW LONG?" Albus's voice boomed, with searing finality.

"Months. It's hard for an exact estimate, but, months." Albus held the now empty ring in his hand, and threw it, muttering something about stupid senility.

"He wants Malfoy to murder me. You can't let him do that. It has to be you, Severus." Snape stood and turned from Albus Dumbledore, refusing to acknowledge his master's wishes.

"Severus. I refuse to die a crazed, confused and lunatic shadow of a wizard this curse will turn me into. I also refuse to let Draco Malfoy split his soul, destroy himself going down a path his heart will never be in." It was true, Malfoy was a half-hearted death eater at best, his cruelty only going as far as taunts in the classroom and bat bogey hexes. "If it's you, Severus, it will be clean. Safe, final. You'll save Draco and do me a kindness."

Snape turned to Dumbledore, memory impenetrable to a screaming Harry, begging the shadows of the two men to change their minds, for it to not be true. He watched as Snape nodded, pathetically accepting the inevitable. Snape turned to leave, and Harry thought the assault of memories were over. Then, as Snape opened the door to leave, the final memory, the last piece of the puzzle played out before him.

"Severus, when the time comes, Harry must know what he has to do." Severus Snape turned back to Dumbledore and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah yeah, we all know, be the boy wonder, the boy who lived, magically prophesized to kill you-know-who." Dumbledore didn't laugh. The twinkle from his eyes was gone.

"A piece of Tom Riddles soul is embedded within Harry Potters forehead. When the time comes, Tom must be the one to do it. The boy must die, and the fragment of his soul destroyed." What Harry saw next, truly shocked him, and he'd just watched about forty years of life ebb and flow before him.

Snape, without giving it a second thought crossed the distance between him and Dumbledore and punched _him, s_ Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore squarely in the face. The fact that it was fist on face, without magic, made it seem even more powerful. He pushed him up against the wall and dangled him by his robes.

"You fucking bastard! What the hell have you been doing all these years? He's a human being, not a fucking tool in a war or fragment of humanity! He's not a lamb to be lead to slaughter when you think the moment to be right! You cannot fucking do that! Is your god-complex so fucking huge that you think you can play life and death with people the way others play with pawns in Wizards Chess? Did you learn nothing from Ariana?" Snape pulled away from him revulsion staining his face.

Harry didn't stay in the memory long enough to watch Dumbledore's reply, or even see if there was one. He shot out of the pensieve and staggered around on his feet. He was sick, specs of vomit flecking on his shoes, patinas of sweat running down his forehead and along his neck. How was someone supposed to process all of that? Out of everything, Harry came away with two key pieces of information. One, Snape wasn't a complete twat. Two, to win the war Harry had to die.

The prophecy lied. His head swam again, not uncommon after examining memories, and he was sick a second time. He could barely breathe. When the room finally stopped spinning, Harry rested his head against the wall. It took him longer than it took Hermione, no doubt, but slowly the pieces were coming together. Instead of Hermione's logical pursuit of the truth, and the driving need to comprehend the most intimate details, Harry thought it was okay to just figure out the general gist, and he got the general gist of what was going to have to happen next. Taking a breath of air, his solemn contemplation was interrupted by a bat-shaped apparition bursting through the window.

Amycus Carrow's pig shape body formed, and he snorted a laugh before cackling. He didn't hesitate to start throwing spells at Harry's direction, forcing a response from the boy who lived. Harry defended himself, still clumsy with dueling, but effective. Carrow fell, blood pouring from gashes all along his body. He'd never give Snape the satisfaction, but Sectumsempra came in handy more often than not. He ran a hand through his hair, now slick with sweat and dirt, and wondered when this bloody war would end. He was sick of fighting.

The battle continued, with more fatalities, more near misses, and eleventh hours. Slughorn stopped McGonagall from being trampled by a giant, whilst Neville and Professor Sprout worked tirelessly with the acromantulas to bring as many bodies from the battlefield Hogwarts had turned into to the safety of all available medically capable witches.

Whilst Ron and the other Weasley's were in the Great Hall, working with the rest of Dumbledore's army to build barricades, and Hermione was Merlin knows where with Snape, Harry slipped away, unnoticed, to the forbidden forest. He used their link to find where he was.

If he was going to die, he wasn't going to delay the inevitable, or give Voldemort the satisfaction of hunting him down like a gazelle.

Three Days Later

Blinking her eyes, and stretching out, Hermione was very aware of continuous, aching pain radiating from her chest, into the very extremities of her fingers and toes. She recoiled and blinked harder, suddenly jolting into a fearful confusion. Where was she? What happened? Had they won the war? Was she dead? She caught her breath and relaxed as she saw Professor McGonagall rolling towards her in a wizarding wheelchair. When her eyes adjusted to the brightness, she was in the hospital wing. The observing windows that overlook the great lake had been blown out, but clearly replaced with an architectural stasis charm.

"Ahh, Miss Granger! You're awake. Thank Merlin for that, I was beginning to get rather bored with present company," She said, followed by a rather irritated Poppy Pomphrey.

"Wha –" Hermione tried to get up and out of bed, but pain seared through her and she was interrupted by Madame Pomphrey.  
"Uh-uh-uh girl. You need to be resting. You've had quite a nasty set of injuries, and you're not undoing all of my hard work by thrashing about." Pomphrey fluffed Hermione's pillows and readjusted her bedsheets.

"How much do you remember?" She took a vial from her pocket and passed it to Hermione.

"Not much, nothing." Hermione ran a hand up to her head to find her hair in two neat, long braids.  
"What's the last thing you remember?" Hermione frowned, as Pomphrey ran a diagnostic charm that felt like peppermint running down her spine.

"I… I was in the boathouse…" She trailed off, unsure to mention her work on Severus.

"Ahh yes, nothing more than crumbled brick and splintered wood now, I'm afraid." McGonagall finally spoke up and moved herself to directly beside Hermione's bed.

"My dear," She clasped Hermione's hands in her own. "We have a lot to catch up on."

Over the course of the afternoon, McGonagall and Hermione talked, and Minerva caught her up with the final hours of the battle. She told her how the light had won, and how Voldemort's body had been eternally destroyed. She talked of Harry's resurrection from the dead, and how the final battle wasn't won with physical strength, but mental agility.

She spoke of the dissipation of the remaining Death Eaters, and how they intended to mourn the dead. She spoke of the losses Hermione didn't recall. Her heart broke for Nymphadora, Luna, Colin Creevy, Nigel Wolpert and too many others to count.

She smiled whilst she told Hermione about the survivors, and Hermione was thankful that Lavender Brown had survived. Hermione shuddered at the thought that certain, threatening death eaters were still on the loose. McGonagall stated simply that Snape and Draco had survived, once Hermione asked, but refused to comment further on their status.  
In the afternoon, once Hermione had taken a plethora of potions to remain conscious and stable, and had a somewhat manageable pain tolerance, Harry and Ronald came to visit.  
Harry came through first, and Hermione was so pleased to see that he'd escaped with less scars than he'd started with, as his forehead was thankfully lightning bolt free. He'd changed his glasses too, and he looked lighter, happier, and to Hermione, looked free.

"Look, Mi, I came in first to tell you that with Ron, you need to be prepared that –"  
"Yeah yeah yeah, let's not talk about me like I'm not here."

The thin veils separating beds in Hogwarts parted and Ron wheeled himself in, the second wizarding wheelchair she'd seen today. It floated just an inch above the ground, and he parked himself noticeably away from both Hermione and Harry, who took the seat to Hermione's right.

"I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you both again, it's amazingly lucky that the golden trio got out of this all alive." She chuckled, nervously and Harry smiled, moving a wisp of hair out of her face.

"Yeah, well we didn't all get out un-fucking-scathed did we?" Ron piped up from the corner of Hermione's little cubby. She opened her mouth to speak and ask but she didn't know how.

"Bellatrix Lestrange." Ron said, clearly filling in the blanks for her. "Hit by an unknown slicing curse, wasn't I? Sliced right through my back and spine. Medics are fixing it, but it'll take months." A tear rolled across Hermione's cheek but Ron's were turning an aggressive red.

"Ron, I'm so sorry." Hermione offered a hand out from her bed for him to hold, but it made him worse.

"Yeah, well you would be wouldn't you? You and that fucking ferret and the son of a –"

"Ronald Weasley!" Harry cut him off, and was raised out of his chair. "Now, is not the time."

"No, course not mate. Let's just shove all this shit under the carpet and pretend that a vanishing charm will work." Ron was almost purple, and turned himself out the room before anyone could say another word.

Hermione looked at Harry, quizzically. He sat back down and took her hand again.  
"How much did Minerva actually tell you?" Ignoring the fact Harry used her first name, Hermione shook her head in confusion and rolled her eyes.

"The usual. Who died, who survived, how many villains are still on the run, like a tidy little bow at the end of a terrible film. She froze up and wouldn't go deep, and only told me that Professor Snape and Malfoy survived too." Harry pursed his lips.

"Yeah. Look, I don't want to lie to you. You're too smart to believe my lies anyway. It's bad. It's not as bad as before, of course, and believe me I'm so glad that maniac is dead and I thought I was going to die for it to happen, and then like, I didn't and it was just so weird because Malfoy's mum was nice to me and she's never fucking nice apparently. Anyway, some people are dead, some people we really care about, and some are really, well fucked up. Look at you and Ron for example. Plus, death eaters got away, and more than the ministry wants to admit too."

Hermione nodded, she knew that the war wouldn't have a brilliant ending, there would be collateral damage, she just had no idea how far the shrapnel had shred.

"Look, I need to talk to you too. No one wants to mention it, but someone will come from the ministry soon enough. So Snape showed me some memories, and he'd been on our side all along. I'm not going to pretend I can fucking stand it, because I can't, I still hate him and I hate what he let happen, but he's on the right side. Plus, the ministry backs him up. It turns out that Dumbledore had a special fidelity and exoneration clause in his will. In the event of his death, Snape's survival and 'us' winning the war Snape's practically a war hero, and his true identity is revealed. Fuck, he's practically in line for an order of Merlin." He pushed his glasses up his nose.

"I bet he's having kittens over that." Harry raised his eyebrows and nodded.

"He never wanted anyone to know, and word from the ministry is he's bloody livid about it."

"Who is running the ministry now? Are they to be trusted?"

"Shacklebolt. Though Mr. Weasley is basically second in command and in charge of 'Post War Relations.' Mrs. Weasley is having a fit over the amount of Aurors going in and out of the burrow."

Hermione smirked and felt for the poor Aurors who were suffering her wrath.

"So what of Draco Malfoy?" She probed, wondering why everyone wanted to dance around the topic.  
Harry pursed his lips again and looked as if he might not answer.

"He," Harry licked his lips and was clearly irritated. "He is in the custody of the Ministry. He claims he was a mini-Snape, working behind the scenes to try and help un-fuck the fucked up that Voldemort did. Though technically Snape's exonerated he's still a prickly bastard and people think Malfoy's lying to save his skin and Snape's trying to cover for him. He's being held in the ministry until the testimony of his expert witness, whom he says knew about his allegiance all along."

Hermione's blood was running cold, and she presumed she would have to answer a few questions.

"Who's that then?"

Harry looked at her over his glasses. He seemed like the war had aged him.  
"You, Hermione Jean Granger." Hermione sucked in a breath. "Is he being honest?" He asked. Hermione nodded.

"I guess that's why Ron's so pissed then." She said. Harry nodded, and avoided her eye contact.

"There's more, isn't there? What? Tell me!"  
Harry was reluctant. He'd been advised to not tell Hermione events she couldn't remember until her brain was ready to remember them, but he knew she wouldn't stop her line of questioning until she got her answers, and it was probably better coming from him than anyone else.

"Mi," His voice was softer now, and more affectionate. "You've been out for three days. You were in bad shape. After I came back, like after Hagrid carried me, Voldemort called for anyone from our side to join him, and not get killed. Lucius called Malfoy over and he did, apparently, he looked like he was bricking it, but he got halfway over their until.." He faltered. "Until you called his name. He turned and he ran back, and I got out of Hagrid's arms. Hell broke loose. I dealt with Voldemort, but after he died, it was like a free for all. Death Eaters knew that their master died and that they'd be facing the full wrath of the law. There wasn't rhyme, or reason, or anything. They weren't even trying to kill, they just wanted to fuck things up. That's when stuff happened with you. I don't know. One minute you were there, and the next you weren't. We finally found you, and that's when Ron got hit. You were under the whomping willow. I think the tree was protecting you, but you were in bad shape. I'm not sure what happened Hermione, but I thought we'd lost you. It's a miracle you even survived."

Hermione shuddered, and little flashes of pain twanged over her body. She looked at Harry, and his eyes were watery, clearly feeling guilty over what he'd told her.

"Thank you, Harry. You did the right thing. I wanted to know, I promise."

"You don't remember anything?" He looked, they met eyes and Hermione gently probed his mind, recoiling in searing pain at her attempt of magic.

"I remember the boathouse Harry, if that's what you're asking," playing off her pain as medication wearing off. Harry looked at her again.

"I didn't tell anyone what you did for him, I don't know if either of you wanted me too. I'm not going to pretend I understand, because I don't, and I don't even know if I agree with it, but all I can say is that I love you Mi, and that I want to be here for you, despite your involvement with Draco or Snape."

Hermione closed her eyes, and leaning back, smiled.

"What?"

Hermione chuckled.

"Told you your boy wonder."


	4. Chapter Four

Days passed, and Hermione Granger was getting pretty frustrated.

After accosting the dithering Madame Pomphrey, she had been left with a better idea of her injuries.

Hermione had several broken bones, which was expected, plus that shattered wrist when Goyle stamped on it. Unfortunately for her, that meant nightly skele-grow.

The curses were what was messing her up. Several unknown curses had been placed on her, causing a plethora of icky side effects, which, yet again, she didn't know the full extent off. Two magical signatures could be detected however, Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange.

It seemed they wanted people to know it was them. She was left marked, with a rather shitty scar from Lucius' cursed knife between her breasts and across her sternum.

Bellatrix Lestrange, left Hermione a nastier gift. Across her left forearm, where the Death Eaters had their mark, Bellatrix had carved the word 'mudblood', and she was told it would always sting, and be a bright, painful red.

Hermione didn't know how to feel, and her emotions were all over the place, with seemingly no correlation to current events. Sometimes she slept all day, spending the night staring into the emptiness of the ceiling, and sometimes she cried until she slept, feeling bitter in the knowledge that deep-down Death Eaters only targeted her so much because of her blood.

With little else to do, she spent her time getting to know the others on the ward personally. Whilst Ron had been here, he'd been discharged and was sulking at the burrow ever since. She couldn't blame him, he must feel heavily betrayed by her actions, but she wasn't ready to talk about it. Not yet.

Flitwick was here, suffering a blinding curse before killing Dolohov. McGonagall was here, still in her wheelchair, being blasted off the Viaduct. Lupin was around. He had no physical injuries, non-worth hospitalization at least, but he was a kind man, and losing his wife, his soulmate, was too much for him to bear. He was on a series of happiness potions until he could work on adjustment.

Those kept in Hogwarts, instead of St Mungo's, were either staff, or considered so vital to the war effort and their win that it was considered a privilege to serve them.  
On the fourth day of being awake, she had a visit from the minister of magic.

"Hermione, it's a pleasure to see you again!" Kingsley, still a gentle giant at seven foot two and broad shouldered said, any intimidation from the man eclipsed by his soft face and warm smile.

"Minister! Forgive me if I don't stand up." She chuckled, pushing herself up to sitting. "Habari za familia?" _How is your family?_ She asked. Whilst born in England, he still had relatives in Nairobi, and got to see them occasionally. Floo made it easier. He chuckled.

"Nzuri, ashante. Habari gani?" _Good, thank you. How are you?_

"Poa, kichisi kama ndizi kwenye friji." The minister laughed, deep and guttural, and Hermione cocked her head.

"You are cool like a banana in the fridge, Miss Granger?" Hermione laughed. She nodded. Disobeying formality, always preferring intimacy and flouting rules, Shacklebolt sat on the edge of her bed, cross legged.

"We have a lot to discuss." Hermione said, knowing if she didn't she'd be stuck all day with a chatty minister who, from what she heard, preferred socialising in the day and working very late into the night.

"Yes, we do Miss Granger. How is your recovery going?" Hermione sighed, and would forever resent being asked questions she didn't fully know the answers to.

"Good. I think. I'm feeling a lot better but I've been taking a lot of potions. Unfortunately, we still don't know the extent or power behind two curses placed on me. It's making me quite tired, and leading to a lot of pain. Pomphrey's worried I'm going to have a seizure, but it hasn't happened yet."

"That's good to hear." He was forever the optimist.

"Yes. I need to talk about the elephant in the room. I need to ask about Fenrir Greyback." It was Shacklebolts turn to cock his head.

"He's dead Miss Granger, and the world is a better place for it."

"I know that. I was the one who killed him." Once, Hermione would have beaten around the statement, stuttering and stammering. War, had changed that. War had changed a lot of things. Shacklebolt said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

"I killed him Minister, and I used an unforgiveable." Her forehead creased, and worry lined her face. Then, the knut dropped.

"Oh, I see." He was tempted to tease her a little, but he saw how much she was worrying. "Miss

Granger, there is no reason to worry, Any unforgivables cast in the final battle aren't subject to

traditional punishment, and especially not anything cast on someone as reprehensible as Fenrir

Greyback." Hermione nodded solemly, thinking back to the enchanted thank-you card Lavender sent

her earlier in the week.

"I'm more interested in Draco Malfoy. As you know he's holding in the ministry, and waiting for his

supporting evidence from –"

"Yes. He's telling the truth. I'm more than happy to support Professor Snape's claim. I knew what

happened, and I'd been speaking to him through coded letters since December, through to the final

battle. Apparently I also stopped him from going to his father when he was called."

Shacklebolt nodded. How far did he pry her?

"So you know first hand Draco is telling the truth, and he aided in Professor Snape's work as a

double agent?" Hermione nodded.

"I also knew about Professor Snape's double agent work, since the night of Dumbledore's passing."

Shacklebolt raised his eyes and his mouth fell open.

"Do Harry and Ron know?"

"No. Not yet."

"Are you prepared to testify?" Hermione thought for a second. It would be the right thing to do, but

she doubted Harry or Ron would take it very well. Plus a tiny, angry little bitter part of her wanted to

just leave Draco to rot. It wouldn't be the nice thing to do, and she knew that she'd feel bad about it.

The boys would get over it.

"Yes." Shacklebolt nodded, with the knowing twinkle in his eye. She really would have to find out how they did that.

"I'll have the necessary paperwork drawn up, but be aware that what's left of the Wizgamont may want to proceed with a hearing." Hermione murmured in mild frustration. Just then, the fireplace ignited with a ferocious roar of green flames. The ginger curls of Percy Weasley poked through, dishevelled.

"Minister! Minister! You need to come with us quick, L-" His eyes darted to Hermione and the few others scattered upon the floor. "Uh, we've got a – a- a-" Percy Weasley, perpetual brown-noser and swot, had forgotten the codewords.

He stammered a few more times, then Shacklebolt interrupted, and said he was coming. Wishing a quick farewell to Hermione, he disappeared into the green with Percy, clouds of green ash plumed behind them.

Again, Hermione was frustrated. That, was single handledly the most interesting thing that had happened in the five days she had been cooped up in the ward, and that was including the rather tedious and yet amusing sight of Filch trying to co-ordernate necessary building work with wizarding builders and ward architects. She sighed. She'd wanted an end to the war, but even she freely admitted this was boring.

Summoning some robes, and sweet talking Madam Pomphrey, Hermione had decided to go on an adventure. She was slow, but steady, and felt like a child up past bedtime at Christmas, sneaking step by step downstairs to catch a glimpse of Santa Claus.

Of course, Hogwarts was very empty. After the end of the battle, a six month leave of absence was given, to prepare the school, rebuid crushed buidings, and for everyone to grieve. Any students that felt it too difficult to return were taken on a case by case basis, possibly being relocated by long distance floo to a different wizarding school.

Hermione had heard a school in New York had been more than accepting and pleased to accommodate as many students as they could.

Passing through the empty corridors, it was hard for Hermione to not reflect on the enormous journey she had been through. From the first piece of magic at six, when she accidentally gave a particularly naughty boy in her class a pigs tail, to her last year, Hermione had always felt a sense of safety in magic. As long as she remembered, she always dreamed, fantasised that there was something more than her parents privileged, yet benevolently hollow life.

Finding magic, finding Hogwarts, it was, it was everything she ever wanted. And then, it was ripped from her. She thought to that moment in her second year as she stood in the great hall, when Draco called her the word that was now permanently etched into her arm.

Mudblood. She sighed, and pulled up a bench that was still overturned. She couldn't find the rage to be mad at Draco. What did he know? He was just the first person in a long line of people that would never see anything but the blood running through her veins.

Some hated it, thinking it a perversion of self-imposed boundaries, and some were so impressed that a 'muggle born' could be so good at something they were never meant for. The latter irritated her more than the fear, their well-meaning condescension made her blood boil.

She ascended stairs, now immobile until term resumed, and found herself unintentionally moving towards the prefects bathroom, having a similar brush with death all those years ago.

Pushing her door open, she just stared inside. The room was immaculate, no crumbling walls, no blood, no sign anyone or anything had ever been there. She examined the spot where she had lay dying but nothing, no sign she'd ever touched this floor before.

Feeling annoyingly unimportant, Hermione lay down, feeling the cool, smooth stone underneath her, and closed her eyes. It was calm. All was well.

"Whatcha doing?" She didn't need to open her eyes to know who that was.

"You're haunting the wrong bathroom Myrtle."

"Nu-uh, with all the annoying children gone, I can spread myself out into whichever cistern I want."

Hermione opened her eyes, and jolted, bumping the back of her head on the stone. Moaning Mrytle was practically nose to nose with Hermione, you know if their noses could actually have touched.

Mrytle backed off, but sat up, cross legged next to her, and Hermiones scalp suddenly felt cold.

"Get off my hair Mrytle."

"But it's so pretty."

Supressing a scowl, Hermione sat herself up, and ignoring the dizziness, sat opposite Mrytle. She was about to ask her what she wanted, but Mrytle started talking, and clearly had been missing company.

"What are you doing? It doesn't make sense you lying on the floor like that. Merlin, if I could have a warm bed with soft cotton sheets to snuggle up in, I doubt I'd ever leave it. You look sad? Why are you sad? You lived? Barely, I will say, but you're still up and about. You're a lot luckier than most, which I would say is a good thing, mainly because I wouldn't want to be stuck here with you for all eternity. No offense, but I'd probably be renamed nice Mrytle when you started nagging people to do their homework from the beyond. Besides, if anyone should be sad, it should be all of us. You know how much the use of dark magic tortures ghosts? Plus they kind of locked us up, well, as much as you can lock up a ghost. We were all shut up in the dungeons with the bad kids who didn't want to play by the psycopaths rules, which is bloody annoying. Do you have any idea how terrifying the bloody baron gets when he doesn't get what he wants? I swear, nearly headless nick was very nearly decapitated."

Mrytle had barely taken a breath, but Hermione looked lost in contemplation.

"I know I shouldn't be sad, Mrytle, but I am. So much is gone, and it'll never be coming back."

"Your point? Gods Hermione, talk about whining. Do you want to be back in the middle of the war, of even before? You know how many times I found you crying in the bathrooms after a particularly nasty game of hex the mudblood."

Hermione had tried to forget about that. She still had a scar on her nose from the bats. Hermione didn't know what to say. She was struggling to find any words actually and fought the urge to close her eyes. She felt like she needed to lie down.

"Not now Mrytle." Said Hermione, rubbing her temple. This wasn't good. Her legs were going numb.

"God, what is it with you? Little Miss Granger, still a know it all and holier than thou cow."

She tried to tell Mrytle to get someone, that something was wrong with her, but all that came out was gurgle.

Suddenly, seizing, Hermione's head smacked the floor before she could brace herself, and her arms tensed up in front of her. Her legs were spasming in and out, causing her to smack her ankles against the floor.

She felt searing pain everywhere, but the worst was in her back, running up her spine and stopping her from breathing.  
Inside the confines of her mind, protected safe from physical pain, Hermione couldn't help cursing as she ebbed further and further away from consciousness. It was going to hurt when she woke up.

Gasping for air, Hermione came around with a start, and jumped around, spluttering, before she felt the warm and soft hands of someone around her chest.

"Now now love, you don't need to be doing that, you've had quite a nasty seizure." It sounded like fatherly, but she knew it wasn't her Dad. She'd recognise that voice anywhere. It was Remus.

Rubbing her eyes, and sitting up far more gently, she looked at him. The poor man was clearly not eating, he was tired and scared. His eyes, once soft and warm, ignoring the worlds cruelness, now took on a look like a puppy who had been kicked far too often. His hair, always unruly, was now greasy and lip, framing his face like the tendrils of an overgrown weed

.  
"Professor Lupin." He smiled at her, but then looked a way, frowning.

"I'm not your Professor anymore Hermione. I haven't been for a long time." She saw tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. She didn't know what to do. The man had been through far too much in life, and too much cruelty. He didn't need anymore. He probably couldn't take it. She said nothing, but pulled him into a hug, vowing to not let go first, wanting to hold him as long as he needed.

"You saved me." She said finally. She wasn't letting him go, but he was crouched by her side, and her bum was going numb. He pulled away.

"Well, I stabilised you. I wondered where you'd gone off to, but I wouldn't have found you in time if it wasn't for her." The emphasis he put on her, it was delicate.

"Mrytle?" That was a rather kind gesture from a rather bitter ghost. Lupin shook his head, and moved his eyes to the top of the cubicles behind Hermione.

"Hey Hermione." No, Gods no. Hermione whipped her head around. Luna Lovegood, wearing what could only be described as a very interesting dress with circles and triangles all over it, and her infamous beetroot earrings, with her long hair flowing around her, was perched on the tops of the cubicles, kicking her feet through the doors. She was smiling.

"Luna." What did Hermione say? Words were failing her, and in the end she said nothing, choosing tears. She chose tears a lot these days.

"Hey now, don't cry. It's okay. It's nice really, it doesn't hurt, and I can never lose my shoes again." Luna chuckled, and jumped down. Hermione stood up to greet her, and heard Lupin rise behind her. She could hear him sobbing.

"See?" Luna wiggled her feet to show Hermione.

Hermione nodded, still crying, words failing her. Luna moved a ghostly white hand onto Hermione's face, and wiped the tears. Hermione only made more to fall in it's place.

"It's okay, I can do the talking for both of us. I'm not alone, you know. It's like having friends, and it's a big sleepover every night. Me and Fred like to keep the first years happy, whilst Peeve's plays jokes on the bloody baron till he's nearly opaque in the face!" Luna sounded happy.

Hermione put her hands on her knees, and gasped for breath as she cried, making loud sobbing and coughing noises. Of course Fred would be here. The knowledge of first years though, it broke her heart. She didn't know how to handle this, the thought of innocent little children, forever bound into the halls of Hogwarts.

"Hey, shhh- shhh -shhh. It's okay, really. They're not in pain any more." Hermione nodded, and stood up, wiping away her tears with the sleeves of her robes. Luna cocked her head to the side, clearly hearing something they couldn't.

"I've got to go Hermione, Fred's trying to convince the Fat Friar to pull a bunny out of the sorting hat. It won't go over well." Like that, she was gone, turning and passing through the walls.

Hermione tried to control her breathing, and turned to Lupin. He was crying too, lip quivering, face blotchy and hyperventaliting.

"I shouldn't be here Hermione. I shouldn't be alive anymore." Hermione frowned, still crying, and put an arm around her.

"Don't say that Remus. You're alive, and I'm lucky. You deserve this." His nose flared.

"I'm a werewolf. My wife, she's, gone. My baby, is being looked after by the Weasleys. I can't even look at him. How can I look at him and know that one day he's going to ask what happened and I'm going to have to tell him I held her as she died and there was nothing I could do? How can I even look anyone in the eye after what's happened? How can I look at Luna, she's such a sweet girl. She was beautiful, and pure, and I'm, I'm here."

Taking another deep breath, Hermione then swallowed and thought about her answer carefully. She didn't want to provoke him or make him worse unintentionally.

"Remus, none of this was up to you."

She hugged him tightly. "They died, because bad people did bad things. You worked as hard as you could, just like I did, and they still died. But that isn't our fault, okay? It's nothing to do with us. We are witches and wizards but we are not gods. Some things, will always be out of our control. But you know, it's okay to feel like this. I feel like this all the time. I feel terrible about everyone, like if I worked harder I could have somehow fixed it all, but I couldn't. And you know what else? I'm going to be here for you, just like everyone else is, because we love you and we aren't going to let anything bad happen to you. I'll be right here until you start to feel better. Then, we'll go and see Teddy together. And I tell you what, he's going to be so excited to see you."

The same look, the puppy kicked too long, too hard, was still in his eyes. He didn't look at her. Eventually, he nodded, she knew he was listening.

"Come on Remus, let's go back and I'll trim your hair. The muggle way, like your Mum used to." Remus smiled a crooked half smile and put his hand out for Hermione to hold. She took it.


	5. Chapter Five

**Authors Note; Hello my lovelies! I'm so sorry that it's been so long since I've updated this story for you, but I've been rather sick and busy finishing some editorial commitments recently! Anyway, I'm back now and ready to re-upload frequently! I hope you like this chapter, and please take a second to leave a quick review if you liked it! Enjoy!**

Days at Hogwarts turned into weeks, and Hermione settled into a comfortable, albeit unusual routine.

Anyone displaced by the War, or without a family, was welcome to find solace within the walls, and a handful did. It was nice to have people around, and since the War, stupid girlish cliques had vanished, and no body seemed to care who sat next to who or spoke to who in the Great Hall.

Without a family and shrinking away from the barrage of questions that she would no doubt find herself if she went to the burrow, Hermione stayed in Hogwarts, and in return, dedicated herself to healing the walls that had now become her home.

In the day, Hermione worked with Professor McGonagall, who now insisted she called her Minerva, to help organise the re-opening and repair of Hogwarts. She developed the theoretical end of new wards, using arithmancy to process and check for potential weaknesses.

It seemed Lupin had improved.

He still had his nightmares, but he was coping better, and a rosy glow had patterned his face. He took long walks, and he was beginning to appreciate the way that the black lake glistened in afternoon sun. He could appreciate the breeze through the trees, and the way it made the leaves flow and dance.

Hermione's ability to do magic had seemingly returned, too. Although more complex spells tired her, and she knew she was no-where near being able to duel, Hermione felt at peace with her wand at her side, and had filled spare time by teaching herself wandless magic, just in case.

Hermione looked out of the window and saw Lupin sitting by the lake, and it brought a smile to her face. The old man was beginning to reclaim some of his identity, and it suited him. She hoped the impending full moon wouldn't put a damper on his recovery.

Hermione suppressed a frown as she watched the runes re-arrange themselves on the parchment.

If she added a rune to help repel muggles, then it's possible that a new ward could be devised to strengthen the cloaking shields.

She'd need to check this out in the library.

It was approaching dusk, and Hermione had lit a candle to continue researching the seemingly endless options for ward enhancement.

She was like this, hunched over a book in the library, like she had been so many times before, when she finally saw Ron again. A floorboard creaked, and she looked up. He was there, in his chair, wheeling towards her.

A smile spread across her face, and she stood to hug him, but his brow furrowed in outright anger.

"Some bloody friend you are! Were you ever going to tell me?" Hermione backed away from him, he look like he was going to be slowing down. Eventually, he stopped, right in front of her, face like a squashed strawberry.

"Ron! What the hell are you talking about?" Hermione grabbed a chair to hold onto, faltering slightly.

Madame Pomphrey had told her that if she was surprised or stressed out that she'd feel weak, but she had pretty much ignored the Medi-Witches advice.

"The bloody hell I'm talking about is the fact that you knew what that sick fucking ferret was up to all this time and you didn't think to let your best friends in on that fact! Moreover, the fucking bastard that called you a mudblood and made your life a torment for years has just had his get out of jail free card handed to him by you! Do you have any qualms about that? Not a slight concern about the fact that Draco fucking Malfoy is running free around England because of you!"

Hermione took a seat. She knew Ron would find out eventually, but honestly didn't know it would have been so soon. She only filed the paperwork this morning. Cursing herself for not realising that Arthur would have told Ron as soon as it hit her desk, she took a breath and thought carefully about her answer.

"Ronald, look, it really wasn't an easy choice to make. It wasn't something I wanted to do-"

"Wanted to do? No things we don't want to do are clean our rooms when we're children, or you know have your family name ruined and under threat of torture because you chose the right side in the war!"

"Right side? Don't be stupid! There isn't a right side in any of this! How do you think I felt, how do you think Narc-"

"Don't bring anyone else into this! You need to explain yourself, and this, to me right now! Because I'm halfway to thinking you're under a fucking imperius!"

"Okay, Ron. It wasn't simple, it wasn't nice either. When I found out, I thought that it was some trick, or a ruse to lead us down the wrong path, but when I realised I could trust it-"

"But how, Hermione? How did you know you could trust Draco, of all fucking people."

"I'd explain if you stopped shouting at me Ronald Weasley!"

Ron hmphed, and slumped down against his chair. Ever since the war he'd been angrier, nastier, and just generally more unappealing. It was easier for him to pick at people, snide and sniping until he wore him down. He was tired though, and clearly defeated by Hermione. He forgot how stubborn she could be.

"I knew Draco was telling the truth," She continued, "Because I knew Snape was on our side all along."

At this, Ron's defeat and tolerance of the situation imploded, and he nearly lunged from his chair. In a split second, he realised his legs would give out, and settled instead for thrashing his arms around, sending the books on her desk flying, sheets of paper pluming out.

"Bullshit!" He yelled, clearly not caring or paying attention to the damage he caused.

Hermione's simple headache had started pouring through the rest of her body, if she wasn't careful, she was going to be in danger of another seizure, only recently having weaned herself off the nerve restorative potions.

Ron was going off on one, and she could barely hear him, accustomed to tuning him out over years of irritation.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley! I will not sit here and listen to you effing and blinding endlessly when I quite frankly have far better things to be doing with my time. Do you trust me?"

Despite everything they had gone through together, War, Heartache, Loss, countless years of pining angst and secretly vying for each other's attention when the humiliating pangs of teenage hormones kicked in, Ron parted his lips, and blinked furiously. He said nothing.

He averted his eyes and ran his tongue between his upper lip and teeth.

Hermione let out a startled sob of humiliation. After everything she had been through, memories she could recall and things she refused to remember, apparently, her best friend didn't trust her.

Her tongue clicked against her cheek, and she stood, ignoring the tiredness that spread through her limbs. It took her less than a moment, but she knew what she had to do next.

She'd spent years loving Ron, first as a friend, and then perhaps as something more, but that love had now faded, into painful disappointment.

She walked away. She couldn't even stomach looking at him, for fear she'd rise to anger. When he didn't even call her name, or try to stop her, her heart broke a little inside, but she was Hermione Jean Granger, and she'd be damned if she'd let him see her hurt. She walked away, resolute.

For a few days, Hermione half expected an owl to start tapping at her window, but when none arrived, she was hardly surprised.

Ron could be a stubborn ass when he wanted to be, and it was worse when he thought he was right, and Merlin, he always thought he was. The fourth day, Hermione was bathing in her private chambers, having been given the private rooms of the head girl away from the gaping mouths of other students, shocked to be in the presence of one of the golden trio.

Hermione was never one for hero worship and found happy solace away from those prying eyes.

There was a tap at her window, and Hermione looked up and saw Errol. She sighed. Forcing herself to practice wandless magic, Hermione focused hard on the latch, and smirked to herself when it popped off. Errol let himself in, and just dropped the letter, almost dropping it into the soapy water.

"They're in there," She said to the bird and gestured into the other room. Errol spread his wings, lost balance, and plopped into the toilet. She sighed and watched the daft owl waddle into the main room.

 _Hermione,_

 _Ron would like to say he is sorry, but he is too overwhelmed and hurting to acknowledge the fact he's in the wrong. You know what he's like. I can't say I totally agree with everything you've done, but I read the transcript of your testimony, and I appreciate that you think you've done the right thing. Mum's effing and blinding, cursing everything you've ever done, and claiming you've broken her little boys heart. Ginny is hurt, but after everything Snape and Malfoy did in their last year, you shouldn't really be mad at her. She's just hurting. Bill and Charlie don't really have anything to say.  
Strangely, George stood up for you, and said that after this sodding war, "who fucking cares."  
I'm sorry._

 _Take care._

 _Percy._

Hermione was a little surprised, to say the least, but more that Percy had been the one to take the time to pen her a letter. She knew it wouldn't have been Ron, but honestly thought Ginny would have reached out first. She could hardly blame her though.

Her thoughts wandered to George, whom it still seemed impossible to separated forever from Fred. She shut the creeping grief out of her mind and sent Errol back without a reply.

If Ron wanted to hide behind his Mum, whine and whinge and claim his heart was breaking, she would leave him to his crying.

Hermione refused to bow any longer to Ron's whims, tantrums and halfhearted threats. He always used to threaten to never talk to her again, and he meant it, until he needed her for some essay or an extra foot of parchment.

The War had changed Hermione, as it changed everyone, and made her harder, older, and perhaps stronger. It seemed it had made Ronald bitter, angrier, and far more childish. She ripped the letter and threw it in the fire.

Her rooms were comfortable, but she kept them bare, filled with books, of course, but somewhat practically barren. She'd ripped down the Gryffindor decorations the first night, opting instead for more muggle style whites, creams and peaches.

Hermione fell into painful, dreamless slumber, with the aid of dreamless sleep most nights. Other nights, she spent curled up in her armchair, countless cups of tea and muggle books.

They grounded her, and brought her closer to the lost world, the one that she abandoned, had to walk away from.

It was a night like the former, tossing and turning, sweating and whimpering, dreamless nightmares creeping through her subconscious, when a clattering and banging woke her from thoughts she couldn't form.

Hermione woke with a start, gasping for breath, unsure if what she heard was a dream or reality, when it happened again, thudding, the sound of someone falling.

Hurrying from bed, she grabbed her wand and almost tripped over herself in tiredness on her way to find the sound of the noise.

Her hand was on the brass door-knob, half turned, when Hermione heard a howling shriek of pain. She frowned, that sound was familiar. It took her a moment to connect the dots, but when she did, she cursed herself for being slow.

The silky moonlight pouring through the trees and into her room, the howling cry of a lycanthrope mid-turn. Lupin. She cursed Merlin.

Hermione searched the corridor outside her rooms, but Lupin wasn't there. Evidence of him was, for two portraits had been knocked off their hooks and their occupants where whining and crying about the inconvenience.

A tapestry had been pulled down, and shredded, and a suit of armour lay defeated, in pieces. A hole had been punched into the stone wall.

Trying to ignore the chill that spread through her at the thought of Lupins strength, Hermione ignored her fears, following the path of destruction in hopes of finding her friend.

Despite her fear, and justified fear she'd always argue, of werewolves, Hermione knew that underneath the teeth, power and howling, it was just Lupin, it would always be just Remus Lupin.

She followed the path on its way out of the castle and thanked that Remus had the sense to take himself away from the other inhabitants.

He was by the Greenhouses when Hermione found him. Curled into a ball, snoring and whining, Remus, now fully transformed into a wolf was sleeping on a chunk of tapestry.

She had to admit, he did look rather adorable like this. Lupin's partial transformation was less aggressive than the others she'd seen.

Many transformations looked angry or painful, but Lupin, now a sleeping, peaceful beast, was so far from looking dangerous or deadly, Hermione had a hard time believing he could ever be such. He yawned, and licked his snout, and Hermione stifled a laugh.

She slid down the wall across from him to sit and pulled her robe around her. She wouldn't leave him, and she wasn't stupid enough to try and move him. She didn't really want to get anyone else either, Lupin would be far too embarrassed when he came back around.

Making a mental note to clear the path of clutter and debris before first light, Hermione sat vigil by Lupin, but it wasn't long until the excitement dissipated from her, tiredness crept into her bones once more, and her eyes fluttered closed.

When Hermione's eyes fluttered open once more, the first thing she saw was the empty lump of tapestry where Lupin had been. Clumps of fur decorated it, and she sat up, looking around to find the corridor empty.

It was marginally less dark now, and Hermione could see around her without Lumos, but the sun had not yet peeked through the horizon. _Shit._ Angry at falling asleep, Hermione jumped up, and looked around, trying to guess which way Lupin went.

Sighing, she followed her instinct, and followed the corridor out into the sprawling garden. Before she could, however Hermione heard the clicking, and soft thud of heavy paw on stone.

Hermione spun around, and there was Lupin. He'd fully transformed now, but she could still tell it was him. Gone was the soft, gentle giant of before, in his place was a ferocious and angered beast.

Hermione could see his size now, he looked smaller before, but now he came up to her waist, at least. He growled, and his teeth seemed to spring from his mouth, a precursor to the dangers yet to come.

Hermione reached for her wand but found her sheath empty. She glanced around, and saw her wand on the floor. It must have fallen out of her pocket.

"Remus. It's okay, it's me. You know me. Hermione Granger." The wolf whimpered, like he was arguing with himself.

"It's just me, it's just 'Mione. It's okay, it's just me. Everything's going to be okay." She took a step towards him, and he growled. She took three steps back. He padded forward, predatorially, and then howled.

Hermione took this moment to run for her wand. She ran forward, and dived for her wand, falling on her back. She heard a snarl, and Lupin ran toward her. Hermione blasted stone on the ceiling, hoping to slow Lupin down.

It hit him, and he yelped, but did nothing to impede him. It made him angry, and he leapt toward Hermione. She raised her hands in defence, and soon fur was on skin, snarling in Hermione's ear and clawing at her.

She pushed back on him, and fired off another few subduing spells, but they missed. Hermione screamed out in pain, Lupins claws where scratching her all over. Blood was rushing through her, pushing itself to the surface, forcing her into fight mode, and she felt the urgency in her core.

Adrenalin pounded in Hermione's heart, and she poked her fingers in the wolfs eye, and dug the fingers of her other hand into his ear, and grabbed, pulling him down sideways, away from her.

She kicked up, and her knee connected with the softness of his underbelly. The wolf pawed at her, and hit the side of her face, hard, with his paw. She felt the copper warmth of blood in her mouth.

The urgency of the situation wasn't lost on her, but she pushed away from the fear of a werewolf's bite and focused her energy on wandless magic.

Her wand had been knocked from her in the struggle, and under the weight and fight of the wolf, she couldn't reach far enough. She focused everything she had, all her magic, and stunned him, directly into his chest.

The world fell silent, and all Hermione could hear was her laboured breathing, and the blood pounding as her heart seemed to beat into her ears.

The Wolf that was Lupin had fallen onto her, now sedate, breathing heavily, but unconscious and Hermione was safe. For now.

She didn't know how long the stunning spell would last, but she was pinned underneath him, nothing covering her but her light pyjamas.

Her hair was out of its braid, tendrils flying across the floor and her face. Hermione's skin had a sheen of sweat, and now the urgency of the situation had left, Hermione felt her bones aching once more, and she could feel the familiar pinching of cuts and scrapes across her body.

Her sternum, where Lucius' curse lay was throbbing, swollen and tender under the coarse pressure of Lupin's coat.

She couldn't breathe, and Lupin seemed to be growing heavier with every waking second. Wriggling beneath the beast, Hermione conceded she was in no position to throw a fully brown werewolf off of her, twisting her head to the side, she spied her wand just out of reach across the corridor.

Stretching out, she extended her arm, and a searing, aggressive pain started. It felt like her chest was tearing open, ripping in two and she was going to spill out.

She thought her screams would have been loud enough to wake the dead.

She thought they had when a dark, cloaked figure appeared above her. She couldn't make out much with her spotty vision, but through the pain Hermione saw the figure lift the wolf from her like it was nothing.

She was screaming loudly now, thrashing around, but within seconds, vice like arms enveloped her, holding her still.

Without asking, the cloaked man undid two buttons of her pyjamas, and ran a calloused, yet still surprisingly soft hand along the scar, before dragging his wand along it. He muttered something unintelligible, and the pain dissipated almost immediately.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Hermione blinked furiously, and her vision cleared. She tried to move, but the vice arms were back, seemingly softer than before.

"Not now Miss Granger. You need to rest."

Her blood ran cold and hot at the same time, and her breathing hitched again. She'd recognise that voice anywhere, and she saw him, she truly saw him standing over her. The pronounced, crooked nose, thin, yet supple lips. Eyes, so black they seemed to bore into her soul. The cheekbones, the damn cheekbones. She thought she would cut herself on those cheekbones.

Severus Snape was crouched above her and had saved her from the searing pain of her serious curse.


	6. Chapter Six

**Authors Note - Hey guys! Welcome new followers! I hope you like this chapter, I've been excited to bring Hermione and Snape back together for a while. Please bear in mind, however that this is perhaps the most OOC chapter so far, but that we will be returning to some in character post war-ness soon!**

Hermione Granger blinked a few times, before squinting and trying to focus on her eyes on the darkness around her.

 _Was it really him? Was he really here?_ Hermione groaned, and sat up gently.

The familiar sting of broken skin radiated, and she could tell she'd gotten scratched across her left thigh, and on her forearms.

She felt the keen sting of a split lip, and probably a black eye from his paw.

Then she saw him. _Snape._ It was the only thing she could thing, over and over again, a man whom she'd saved, and presumably held the key to her missing memories. She shuddered at the unknown.

He was hunched over a still sedate Lupin, who was peaceful and lifeless, not a trace of the anger before. Snape was whispering things, and a knot of glistening blue magic ebbed from his wand. He dispatched a vial of potion from his pocket and poured it between the wolfs teeth, massaging it into his throat.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, clearing her throat. Severus ignored her question.

"Really Granger, trying to accost a fully-grown mountain troll wasn't enough for you? Needed to add the danger of a lycanthrope under your belt?" Snape didn't look at her, but she could tell he was sneering.

She lent to her left to pick up her wand, but before she could start healing her minor wounds, Snape spoke again.

"As tempted as I'm sure you are to undo my work Miss Granger, please refrain from foolish wand-waving. You're no where near capable."

 _Bastard._ Hermione sulked. _How did he even see me anyway? His back was turned, snide git._

Hermione chewed on her cheek, feeling rather childlike and frustrated. Eventually, after what seemed like an hour, Snape ceased his work on the wolf and turned to Hermione.

With the aid of conjured lighting, and the dawn starting to poke through the forest, Hermione looked at him, and really saw him for the first time since that night.

He seemed taller than before, and a little more powerful. He'd always been lanky, or at least he seemed to be, but now he was more athletic. He wasn't as greasy anymore, though maybe that was just the lighting. That same crooked nose still sat in the middle of his face, but Hermione saw the faint pink trail of a scar from the top of his right ear to just under his cheekbone.

He seemed to be staring at her, and unbeknownst to her, was looking at her, examining her just as she examined him.

 _She's changed._ He thought. He saw her frizzy hair, her tired eyes, her wounds. It hit him with a pang of pain to see her wounded, but it was probably just held over responsibility from his teaching days.

She'd filled out, and he couldn't deny it. She looked vulnerable, painfully so in her soft linen pyjama shorts and stop. He averted his eyes from her when he realised her top buttons were still undone, exposing her scar and showing just a peak of the soft curves of her breasts.

She looked down, following his eyes and gasped. Blushing, she did her buttons up, and tried to stand.

"No!" He yelled, and was at her side at an instant, catching her as she fell, those soft vice arms enveloping her.

"You're weakened, Miss Granger. He put a rather nasty curse on you, one essentially aiming to kick you when you're down." Hermione tensed up against him, feeling like she was breaking school rules by simply being this close to him.

She hated her weaknesses, she hated how the consumed her and enveloped every part of her life like a fire, and she hated the fact that she needed to be in someone's arms to prevent her from falling and crashing onto the floor. She pursed her lips, and Snape put her down gently.

He didn't seem as mean now. _Perhaps he's finally working on his bedside manner._ She mused. Hermione looked back over at the sleeping Lupin.

"What happened? I watched him take his wolfsbane, why did he attack me? He didn't even know me, I don't think. Wolfsbane helps each lycanthrope retain their memories and subdue the harsher and more painful effects of a transformation."

"Well done Miss Granger, though if I'd wanted the recitation of simplistic third year knowledge I would have asked for it." He looked at her, and she gave him the strangest look in return. It was one that Snape had been given by Draco thousands of times.

One eyebrow, ever so slightly cocked, with pin straight and unamused features, an almost resting testimony to how unhappy and unaffected she was by his snark. Within the recess of his mind, Snape chuckled.

Hermione had clearly taken to a friendship with the blonde boy wonder. Writing her attitude off as a response to the stressful situation, he explained.

"The dunderheaded half-wit that brewed this potion made a mistake, which whilst they probably thought to be seemingly insignificant, or perhaps didn't think to look past their exceedingly short-sighted nose and didn't notice, and it had disastrous consequences for poor Remus."

Hermione raised her eyebrow. _Poor Remus._ Snape clearly Lupin in some sort of esteem and was clearly protective of the wolf. Hermione was tired. Any friendship between Remus and Snape needed to be contemplated after sleep, or at least coffee and something to eat.

"I think Poppy Pomphrey was responsible for brewing this month's batch."

"Logic would dictate that Miss Granger, however I stand by what I said. Wolfsbane was made wrong and someone could have died." Snape bit back at her defensively.

"I wasn't disagreeing with you, Professor." Snape's eyes seemed to bore into her soul, and he was considering her deeply again. He nodded, a cautious acceptance of her subtle insult to Poppy.

He could lose himself looking at Hermione, considering the witch and examining what she'd become. She was fascinating and had become a perfect mix of the bookish know-it-all and fearsome survivor.

Hermione was first to break the silence, probing him, asking more about the curious scars on her body.

"You know a lot about my curse then?" She asked, realising how nasty it sounded. She blushed, and thought she detected the tiniest wave of shame across his face. A little lead balloon of guilt sat in her stomach and threatened to inflate.

"I only mean that no one will tell me, anything, about my chest, and to be honest I don't think any of them know. If you know something, please tell me Professor." It was frustrating, to them both, how Hermione seemed to flit between bold confidence and tiny schoolgirl.

"I'm not your Professor." Snape said, cold and distant. It was like he was pulling away from her, from everything. "I should get you to the hospital wing."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not in the hospital wing anymore. I'm staying in the head girl's rooms, and after what you've said about Poppy, rightly so I have to add, I'd much prefer to go back to where I'm staying."

"You need medical attention Miss Granger."

Hermione didn't reply. Perhaps it was a culmination of tiredness, curses and charged emotions from an already tense situation, or perhaps it was some sort of sub-conscious entitlement from saving his life, which neither of them had decided to acknowledge, but Hermione couldn't be bothered to cower before the greasy git of the dungeons. War had ruined everyone's masks.

"You're here." It was a statement, sure, but Snape knew what Hermione meant. She wanted him to treat her, in the confines of her private rooms.

If any of this had happened years ago, he could have gotten fired. Then, of course, none of this would have happened before. This situation, the absurdity of Hermione Jean Granger in her pyjamas, in the presence of the elusive Severus Snape and a wolf Remus Lupin was only something insane and barbaric enough to be borne from War, loss and turmoil.

Previous roles, the greasy dungeon bat, the double agent, the secret werewolf, the know-it-all, even the exceeding superficial and demanding title of the 'golden trio' had all disappeared.

It was three people, all hurting, all forever changed, gathered in a corridor and rather inelegantly trying not to die.

"Very well. I will take Lupin to the shrieking shack and ensure his safety for the rest of his transformation. As you know, he will not remember any of this, and I'm sure you can be persuaded to act with tact and not enlighten him."

Without waiting for a reply, Snape levitated the sedate wolf, and turned on his heels, disappearing through the door.

Hermione scowled. _Of course, I wouldn't even dream of telling him, it's not his fault._ The ache in Hermione's bones was too pressing to ignore, and she lay back down, each bone feeling like it was pulling itself into the ground.

Staring at the stone ceiling, she couldn't help but contemplate each moment of her interaction with Snape in great detail, exploring each second of memory. Hermione hadn't seen him since that night, and now the final battle seemed to be so far, even though it's memory bled into every second of her existence.

Before Hermione knew it, she rolled over and tucked her arm under her pillow, squeezing it for comfort. Hermione jolted, there was a disconnect from lying on the cold hard ground of the corridor, to the soft warmth of her bed.

Hermione sat up, and yelled out, fear of the unknown at the forefront of her mind, uncertainty leading to fear which led to panic. Hermione was even more confused however, when she saw Severus Snape sitting at her bedside.

His head was buried in one of her books, but soon looked up to her and pursed his lips, clearly some sort of Slytherin greeting.

"You were asleep when I came back, so I carried you to your rooms, figured you could do with some rest before we began. I took the liberty of healing your cuts and scrapes."

"You know where the head girl rooms are?"

"I was headmaster here."

 _Of course, he was._ She thought back to that dark time, but here, in the safety of her room, in the presence of the man whom owed his life to her, those thoughts seemed such a dangerous place to go.

"Before we began?" She probed, hoping to change the subject, and distracting her from her thoughts went somewhere dangerous.

Snape put her book on her bedside. He leant forward, elbows on his knees, and bore his eyes, almost into her soul.

"He, Lucius, whilst a complete shit, was rather gifted at developing curses. He was, as the muggles say, compensating for something."

Hermione couldn't help but chuckle, but Snape pressed on.

"Do you remember when you got hit by Dolohov's curse in your sixth year?" Hermione nodded.

"Well, Lucius developed something similar, which like I said, was designed to torture you whilst you're down. He designed it, to sit, dormant within the afflicted, and triggered only when the victim is stressed, weakened, under attack, and so on. Haven't you ever wondered why you seem to deteriorate so quickly. I presume you've had seizures?"

Hermione nodded again, but instead of looking at him, was now fascinated by pulling apart the threads of her duvet. Snape had dispensed his usual piece of shit act, and his voice was seductively low, but it didn't make his news anymore pleasant.

"It triggers, and takes a little more and more from the victim, until they're eventually so weakened and depleted from the magical resources, that they're destroyed as a person."

"Like Frank and Alice?" Her reply the only sign that she'd listened to any of it.

"Yes." He said, a final damming nail in the proverbial coffin. She said nothing, for what seemed like the longest time, just frozen, looking ahead, staring into the void.

"Miss Granger?" Snape asked, but she was too far away for him to reach her.

"Hermione?" He asked, and almost cursed himself for the overwhelmingly personal use of her first name. Her head turned, snapping instantly to him, but instead of meeting his eye, or anything remotely related to what he just said, she gazed at his throat.

His shirt, black of course, had a button undone, exposing his throat, and the dip between his collar bones. A delicate, yet ugly scar knit across his neck, about an inch thick, a dusty rose colour.

"Not my most elegant work, for sure, but you lived."

Severus Snape was completely taken aback by her boldness, and the eerie lack of emotion in her voice. Then it occurred to him. The girl was in shock.

"Miss Granger, it's going to be okay. Minerva asked me here specifically. Much like you, I took the liberty of preparing counter-curses, restorative potions, and stockpiled any other forms of healing magic that I could. She asked me to give them to her, in hopes they'd be of some use."

Finally, she met his eyes again, exhaustion and irritation seemed to glow from her irises. She narrowed her eyes, untrusting and cautious of him. She nodded, taking in everything he said. She would die, but she could live.

She was sick, but could be healthy, and for the time being, couldn't have any near death or shocking experiences. _Easier said than done,_ she thought. She looked to be deep in contemplation when she spoke again.

"I want you." Severus Snape's blood ran cold.

"Excuse me?" He asked. That statement was absurd.

"If you have the knowledge and you're the creator, you're the best person to administer. Correct?" Snape nodded.

"So," She continued "I want you to be my physician, so to speak." Snape leant back in his chair and sneered at the girl.

"You forget yourself. I'm a potion's teacher. I'm not a nurse or medi-witch to stand at your bedside and cry for you." Snape's tone changed, from the soft warmth of before into a more dangerous, antagonistic and threatening decibel.

"I'm not asking you to be. Plus, you owe me." Snape stood, affronted, and turned away from the girl.

"You forget yourself, girl." His voice dropped again, and was like a snake in the grass, elegant and threatening all at once. She smacked her fists down onto her bed, and cried out in frustration.

"Fuck it!" She exclaimed. "Fuck it all. No, I'm not forgetting myself, for Merlin's sake. I saved your life that night, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat, and if you're telling me that you're the person who developed the antidote to my condition, then you're the best person to administer it. Additionally, as I'm sure you'll notice, the world has descended to a fucked place, and Hogwarts is the one stronghold that doesn't seem to be as messed up as everywhere else. It's safe here and you won't have to listen to the onslaught of stupid."

Hermione was out of breath. Gasping and catching her breathe, she looked up at Snape, who was staring at her with a mix of abject horror and admiration. He didn't miss a beat. If he was mad, affront or downright offended by what she said, his face didn't show it.

"Better?" He asked, smirking, familiar eyebrow raised, arms folded. Hermione nodded.

"Fine. If you're telling me that Hogwarts is the one place in the world that I'll be free from the polarising view of me as a war hero or satanic cult leader, then very well. Though now, Miss Granger, you must rest. You've had a rather stressful night. I will not discuss treatments of remotely attempt to heal you in this state. You're bordering on hysterical."

Hermione nodded, ignoring his insult, and Snape snatched another vial from his pocket, passing her dreamless sleep. He bowed his head, subtly, and left her, alone.

* * *

Remembering himself, the greasy potions master, his face steadied, harsh lines seemed to reappear out of nowhere and he readied himself. He had to see Minerva.

Later, roughly ten am, Snape found himself in his old haunt, his old dungeon chambers, alone, with his thoughts, as he found himself far too often.

The one thought, he couldn't stop from swimming around and around in his head was her. It was all he could think, Hermione Granger.

Hermione Jean Granger had saved him. He thought it was ghosts, with a sick sense of humour, that brought him back from the brink of death. He felt hands, warm human hands, soft, feminine scent, but saw nothing.

 _How could I believe it was anything but a spectre?_ He damned the fates that he should live, and more that he should owe his life to her, of all people. Yes, she'd changed, that much was impossible to deny, but War changed people.

He knew this. He lived through two of them. He'd always been content with the idea that he would have died, but this, _oh gods this was too much._

He cursed Merlin, and found himself drinking sniff after sniff of fire whiskey, the burning a brilliant distraction from the throbbing pain of thoughts in his head. _Why her? Why Miss Granger of all people? What on Earth possessed her to save me._

Everything was overwhelming, everything was insane. Even the knowledge that he'd created all these counter-curses, countering potions and healing charms frustrated him.

Damn Tom mother-fucking Riddle, and damn every one of his blasted followers. _You were one of them, once._ The small niggling part of him that wanted to damn him to hell thought.

He examined his memories, each piece of the last twenty-four hours, looking for answers. He'd gotten Minerva's owl, asking him to visit and discuss options for healing options.

He'd flooed to the edge of Hogwarts boundaries, and made his way to the castle, when he heard the familiar of howl of Lupin. Balance of probability considered, it took him less than ten minutes to find Lupin, who now transformed, lay atop a woman.

Then, oh, it was Miss Granger. Minerva had told him of her injuries, but it was still overwhelming to see them in person. The scar across her chest broke his heart, more evidence of Lucius and his sadistic streak.

He tried not to look then, but he couldn't help but notice how obvious the carving of "mudblood" was into her left forearm. He examined it now, carefully in his peripheral, and saw it's angry and jagged scrawl evidence of Bellatrix's madness.

He remembered. He remembered those moments, when he woke, on the grass grounds of Hogwarts, when Bellatrix's screaming permeated his unconscious, waking him from his healing unconscious. He watched as they tortured the girl, thinking her to be dead, thinking him to be dead, and he remembered what happened next.

It still gave him shudders to think upon, it still threatened to make him vomit. That night, he hadn't been a hero, he hadn't swooped in like a knight in shining armour to save Miss Granger, or to save anyone.

That night, when he finally came too, after what he now knew to be Hermione had saved him, he watched, in moments that seemed like hours, as Lucius, Bellatrix, and a few Death Eaters he didn't know played with what they thought to be a dead body.

Then, as soon as he was aware of himself, clinging to the last piece of strength he had, Snape wandlessly sent a killing curse square into Lucius Malfoy's chest. The pure shock of it, probably combined with how haggard and zombifed they both looked, stopped the death eaters in their tracks, and send them apparating off to merlin only knew where.

Snape cursed his cowardice and threw the rest of the firewhiskey into the crackling fireplace. Flames leapt from the fire, up across the marble mantel and licked the mirror above.

He groaned in frustration, before shooting water from the tip of his wand. He forgot how well firewhiskey burnt, how quickly appealing little flames atop a glass could turn into sinister threats, though the scar across his thigh reminded him.

He refused to think back to that now. He could spend years remembering how he got each one of his scars, and he was already pathetically wallowing in pity and angst. He leant back into his chair and pinched the bridge of his crooked nose.

The alcohol swam through him and would soon be able to think of nothing more than the swaying of his tired bones and the spinning of his head. _Thank Merlin._

Hopefully, his tiredness and drunkenness meant he'd sleep through most of the day, and sleep his hangover off most of the night. Tomorrow, he said to himself, tomorrow this can all be sorted. He could probably probe into Granger's mind and figure out her intentions.

He'd hide in Hogwarts until they kicked him out too, and spend the rest of his life hiding from the fucking world. Yes. That could be done.

Snape barely kicked his shoes off before he passed out on his couch, never making it to his bed.


	7. Chapter Seven - Part One

When Hermione drank her tea the next morning, the date on the newspaper told her exactly three months had passed between the final battle and now.

Hermione scowled. It felt like so much had changed, everything was different now. It also felt that it had only been seconds, and she was still stuck, forever immortalised in those moments of terror that she knew would affect her forever. She threw down the muggle newspaper, it seemed they were still talking about the same things, day in day out.

This celebrity is interesting, now that celebrity. We hate them, we love them, we elect the wrong people to govern our states. She sighed. The wind was blowing through her rooms, and the cross breeze from her windows was causing her hair to wave and blow in a combination of ethereal directions.

She felt human again, in this moment. She liked that feeling. Skipping breakfast, as she often did, Hermione dressed quickly, eager to start fixing her chest. _I wonder if he could do anything for my arm._ She pondered, picking out a loose fitting, low necked grey t-shirt and some black leggings.

It'd do to wear something easy to move in, since she didn't know what her treatment entailed, plus the rising August sun promised to beat down hard. Tucking her wand into the waist band, she pulled the mass of curls into a messy bun.

She could tolerate herself today, but still couldn't look in the mirror, knowing how exposed her scars were. Heading down to the dungeons, she was thankful it was a quiet day. She bumped into Flitwick, and offered a cursory greeting, thankful he couldn't see her. He was still blind, but the all-knowing kindness hadn't gone from his eyes.

She passed him on the still stationary stairs. When she got down to the dungeons, the world seemed silent. She let her thoughts wander through the recesses of her mind, until her attention was pulled back into the moment.

Almost reflexively, her hand grasped her wand and her body tensed in response to sound of extra footsteps walking behind her.

"Oh calm down Granger, I'm on the straight and narrow now, don't you know?"

Instantly, Hermione relaxed. She'd recognise that voice anywhere. Tormenting her for years, and then becoming such an inconvenient confidante and friend, Draco Malfoy was back in the halls of Hogwarts.

Forgetting her insecurities and deep hatred of her body in the current state it was in, Hermione's fingers relaxed upon her wand, but she didn't let go completely.

She spun around, and narrowed her eyes at the boy, turned man, who most of Slytherin house had once nicknamed 'The Blonde Ambition.'

"I see they're letting any old disgraced wizards back into these once hallowed halls now. Wouldn't you be happier spending your time sulking in Daddy's manor?"

She cocked an eyebrow. Nihilistic and cutting comments had often been passed between them like candy, black humour a way to marry their once violent rivalry and new, controversial friendship.

"Perhaps, though I see the orphan muggle-borns are being put to good use cleaning house. Perhaps you'll finally get your wish and we won't need the house elves next year after all!"

Draco's voice was dripping with sarcasm, but they shared a common ground. Hermione knew how heartbroken Draco had been after Dobby died.

Instantly, the sneers, cocked eyes, and seemingly over-dramatic pouts disappeared, and Draco crossed the distance between them, pulling Hermione into a welcome, but bone crushing hug. Hermione groaned eventually and tapped onto Draco's shoulder. He didn't let go, but loosened his grip, still holding onto her, and whispered into her ear.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so so so sorry Hermione. Please, forgive me."

She pulled away from him, and looked deep into his eyes. She didn't need legilimency to know what he was referring to.

"For what? Your shitty personality for the last eight-ish years? I hardly think you can be held accountable Draco, being an arse runs through your veins."

He smirked, but it was half hearted, fading almost instantly.

"Please, Hermione. I'm so sorry. What they did to you, it's, reprehensible." Hermione sighed, and nodded.

"Nothing to do with you."

"It was my father! My aunt!" He protested.

"You didn't wield the wand, Draco." Hermione's voice took a dangerous low.

"Besides, I barely remember it." She met his eye again and projected the feeling of warm forgiveness into him. He sighed. She took the crook of his elbow with her hand and motioned for them to continue walking.

"Besides, your uncle is making very bold claims about being able to fix me."

"He's not my uncle."

"Ehh." She shrugged. "Uncle. Godfather. Only reason I didn't kill you when I had the chance." He laughed.

"You mean my razor sharp personality and good looks wouldn't have saved me?" Hermione chuckled, deep and true, but it caught in her throat, causing a coughing fit. Eventually, through coughs, she spoke.

"If it were left to that, I'd have brought you back just to kill you again."

They talked, catching up and reminiscing until they stood outside Professor Snape's chambers. Draco turned to Hermione, and forced himself to only look into her eyes, though he couldn't help but notice her angry scars.

"Do you mind if I go in first, alone? He's always been a grumpy old sod, especially in the morning. Besides, I have come here for a reason, and he's usually more amicable one to one."

She nodded and lent against the stone wall. It felt like being back in school, sparring with Malfoy, waiting outside a Professors chambers. Draco tapped on the door, and turned the handle, disappearing behind the wood, clearly knowing the passwords to Snape's wards.

Inside Snape's chambers, Draco found a great sight to behold, and was almost regretful he hadn't let Hermione come inside with him.

Sprawled, face down into the rather tatty couch, fast asleep and snoring like a kitten with a smoking habit, the once formidable Severus Snape was a mass of greasy, knotty hair, and crumpled, whiskey stained clothes.

The fireplace, singed mantle and wallpaper above, was still damp. Clearly Snape had put it, badly, out shortly before he slept.

Draco gave a cursory glance around Snape's lounge but didn't see anything pressingly desperate to take his attention. Sure, the curtains were drawn, yet threadbare and stained, but they'd always been like that.

Draco aimed his wand at Snape, and a blast of cold water left the tip of his wand, yet the minute it hit Snape, it disappeared, and he was left try. It was a charm Draco had developed as soon as the rest of his year learnt to drink, it never failed to wake anyone up.

Snape bolted upright, jolting into action, but frowned and cursed when he realised it was just Draco. Draco plopped down into an armchair as Snape cradled his head in between his hands. Fire whiskey hangovers were notoriously a bitch.

"Had a nice evening, did we?" Draco asked.

"Fuck off Malfoy." Snape bit back, his pain seeping into his voice. He tapped the corner of his table and moments later a double espresso appeared on his table. He took it and necked it down. He tapped again, and another appeared.

"Doesn't that burn?" Draco asked again.

"What do you want, Draco?" Snape sipped this espresso carefully, and was slowly turning from a light green, greyish colour to the pale, usual pallor of his skin.

"Oh I'm only here for you to sign some more parchment for me. You were named an executor to my fathers will, and for me to inherit the estate and go along with my plans for it, you need to sign your name on the dotted line, as the muggles say."

He took a stack of parchment from his jacket pocket, wearing something not looking too dissimilar to a muggle suit. He slid it over to Snape.

"When did you give a fuck about what the muggles say?"

Snape asked, rising to fetch a quill, and trying to ignore the rising bile in his throat.

"Oh, you know, just catching up with everyone's favourite bushy-haired know it all." Snape groaned. His head was spinning, and his stomach was threatening to empty its contents all over his lounge floor. He groaned again and scribbled something that vaguely resembled his signature upon the parchment.

"She told me all about your plan for your magical cure. I didn't know you were giving out free doses of make-it-all-betters? You really have turned over a new leaf." Snape scoffed, and sipped his espresso again.

"Watch it Malfoy. You forget yourself. I came here simply on the request of an old friend, helping McGonagall with certain needs. I happened across Lupin, fully fucking transformed and that stupid know-it-all trying desperately to not die."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Besides, with Shacklebolt threatening that Order Of Merlin, the walls of Hogwarts are the perfect place to hide until all that stupidity dies down."

"Nothing to do with the fact that she saved your life?" Snape looked at him, and raised another eyebrow whilst still maintaining a scowl. _Did everyone know she was a fanastic bloody idiot for saving him?_ An annoyed angst bubbled within him, but he pushed it away.

"Fuck off Draco." Draco pouted, and then paused for a moment. He looked like he was thinking, very deeply, and he was overcome with a sudden wave of emotion.

"Thankyou." Snape met Draco's eyes.

"You did so much, over the years, you protected me, and you, didn't have to. I appreciate it. I'm glad you made it out alive." If Snape was affected by Draco's words, his face didn't give it away.

"Fuck off, Draco." He said again, but with all his usual vitriol and sarcasm gone. In its place, was a rather affectionate and perhaps even fatherly tone.

A few hours later, Severus Snape and Hermione Granger found themselves in Snape's old teaching classroom.

Snape had his head tucked over several cauldrons, some bubbling away furiously, some just simmering with steam rising, whilst Hermione had several books sprawled over a desk. The room was silent, the occasional sound of stirrer hitting cauldron or page turning. Inside of Snape, a similar kind of bubbling was occuring. He was feeling indignant and entitled, mad she had seemingly told everyone of her heroic efforts to save him.

 _I bet she only did it so she could say I didn't get to escape justice._

When Snape added powdered arrowroot to one simmering pot, Hermione sneezed, and Snape snapped.

"Could you keep your hacking and guffawing down? Some people, unlike you sticking your head in a book, are actually doing some work?"

Hermione shot her head up and looked indignant. Deciding that the ensuring row wouldn't be worth it, she stuck her nose directly back down into her book, and ignored him.

"What did Draco want?" She asked, about fifteen minutes later.

"Wow." Snape remarked. When she looked up, he continued. "I didn't know the ever irritating and infuriating know-it-all had ventured into inappropriate nosiness now too!"

Hermione scowled, and the corners of her eyes pricked with crows feet, a testament to her tiredness.

"I'm not nosey!" She shouted, and then realised she'd probably been protesting a little too hard. She softened, and shrugged a shoulder.

"I just want to know that he's okay. He took a lot of guilt on after the final battle and-"

Snape cut her off with a sigh.

"Ahh, of course, Miss know-it-all has ventured into the well known but still ever-revolting Gryfindoor self-righteousness and tactless sympathy. Tell me, Miss Granger, do you actually hear the words that come out of your mouth or do you just let the irritating parts of your brain take over entirely?"

Hermione snapped her book shut, and furrowed her brows together so hard that they almost became one.

"How dare you! I'm asking because I care about him, not because-"

"Yes, care about him, of course you do. Definitely don't think you're better than him, at all-"

"Why would I think I'm better than him?"

"Oh please. Save me the act, Granger. I taught you both, for years remember? I saw the way you looked at him, and the rest of my house! If you weren't feeling self-righteous for your rather misguided belief you were the smartest person in the room, you were loving the entitlement that was bred from always being on the right side of the war! You never had to fight against your family"

"He didn't have to-"

"Didn't he? Then what do you think would have happened? How do you think it was, living with the knowledge that it was a very literal case of kill or be killed? Just for once, stick your abnormally large and bushy head out of other people's business, and quit pretending that you're practically perfect in every way! Even this stupid little war victim act has gotten old, and it's barely just begun!"

Instead of biting back, Hermione stood up, and trying her best not to shake, tucked her book under her arm.

When Snape looked at her, he saw tears rolling down her cheeks, and the anger evaporated in an instant.

He did nothing though. She walked away from him, silently, footsteps barely sounding as she padded against the stone floor. She stopped just before the door and spoke again.

"Then why, if I'm truly such a shit show of the worst parts of human existence, do you bother brewing your fucking potions for me? Why fix me? Why not just let me die, save you all the fucking bother? It'd save me a lot of trouble, I can assure you."

Without waiting for a reply, or even giving Snape time to process, she was gone. Severus Snape scowled, and getting lost in his thoughts, turned back to his bubbling and simmering potions.

 **Hey guys - I'm so sorry it's taken me nearly two weeks to upload, I've been super sick. Though, please do let me know what you think! Part two coming soon.**


	8. Chapter Seven - Part Two

Snape's attention was fully encompassed by his potions work.

The bubbling, brewing, and exact precision needed to tease the correct response from delicate ingredients was therapeutic to him. He liked the certainty, knowing if he mixed certain herbs together he'd get the same outcome, every time.

People, he had come to realise through painful experience, could never be trusted to be so reliable. It was for this reason, the therapeutic monotony of chop, drop, stir, wait, that the sun was threatening to tease behind clouds laying lazily across the horizon when he finally considered finding Miss Granger.

He was irritated by her, rather inexplicably so, but found himself perpetually irritated and jealous that she got to take such a long time to mourn, process and reflect on her emotions.

In some instances, he got mere seconds before he was rushed into action, making split second decisions whose ramifications threatened to destroy the world. He supposed, however, he couldn't fault the girl for this.

With great trepidation, and already regretting his decision, he ascended the stair cases, leaving the darkened confines of the dungeon, and went on the hunt for a bushy haired know it all.

There was no great wonder where she might have been though. Where Hermione found solace would never change. The library. When he found her, she was hunched up on the floor, a gigantic and ancient tome resting on her knees.

It wasn't a conscious thought, but Snape couldn't help but find her so attractive like this.

She wasn't like most witches he knew, obsessed with her appearance, fawning over mirrors and potions, slicking her hair and pushing her breasts up, sucking her stomach in, binding it with tight dresses or corsets.

Instead, she was so beautifully unaware of herself, baggy shirt exposing beautiful, latte coloured skin, with a creamy rich depth beneath it. Her lips, parted gently, as they always were when she was deep in thought, deep rose where she'd been sucking and biting in confusion.

Her hair, frizzy, and exited, just added to her beauty, a personified extension of her zeal. Snape felt his resolve, his angst-ridden mask of anger dissolving, and felt a wave of repulsion building in himself.

 _Fawning over a student? How perverted Severus, you should be disgusted with yourself._

He cleared his throat, and spoke with the same velvety, unintentionally attractive tone of always.

"Reading in the restricted section without a permit Miss Granger? You should be positively ashamed of yourself."

Snape had intended it to sound ominous, almost threatening, but as soon as he said it, it sounded almost playful, and he had to fight the blush that threatened to flush his cheeks.

Hermione scoffed, and without looking up from her book, bit back.

"Restricted? After everything, the concept of being unable to read what I want for fear of a few house points seems rather futile, doesn't it?"

It was rhetorical. There was no need for reply, they both knew they'd surpassed the concepts of house points, loyalty and rivalry.

"Twenty is rather young to be so jaded and cynical. You should leave it to your elders."

"You know I'm twenty?" She asked, eyes not moving from her page, head still bowed down to her lap, one eyebrow ever so slightly raised.

"You forget Miss Granger, I'm not some unaware Gryffindor incapable of basic maths. With all the messing around you did in third year, I'm surprised you're not older."

A smile threatened to spread on Hermione's lips. Snape clamped down upon his emotions like a vice. It would ruin him now to show any softness to the girl.

Snape swallowed, audibly.

"I believe my words could have perhaps been considered to have been perceived as something negative and harsh. If I've caused offense, or hurt your feelings" He drawled, "Then I am sorry."

Hermione finally shut her book and looked up at him. Snape felt his stomach turn a little. She truly was beautiful.

"I am sorry too. I believe I was overly personal with you the other night, partially due to my tiredness and experience with Lupin, and, I'm just out of sorts, ever since…"

"I know." Said Snape. He wasn't a man of many words, learning too young that the more you said the more trouble it meant. Years of playing double sides only served to solidify this truth. Hemione's innocence turned her into a jaded woman. She would grow out of it.

Snape knew it wouldn't do to focus wholly too much on the strange, and nervously new interactions between them. He was about to change the subject, when Hermione did it for him.

"I take it the potions are ready then? If you've finally come to coax me out of my hiding hole." She pushed her book to the side and stood.

Dizziness took her, her hand flew out to the bookshelf. Before she could feel the cool grain of wood, Hermione almost fell, and Snape caught her.

Her hand fell into the crook of his elbow as they stood, mere inches apart truly examining each other's faces. Hermione looked quickly, eyelashes fluttering as her eyes darted across his face.

She saw a few, crooked lines by the corner of his eyes, and the light scar that trailed across his cheek. His eyes were dark, pools of night swirling wisdom and experience.

Raven's hair stemmed from his head, and it looked slick, as it always was after he'd had his head over potions for a long while. Even so, Hermione couldn't be faulted for thinking he was handsome.

Even his undeniably large nose seemed to be something perfectly fitting, like it should be there. It was part of him. Warmth radiated through his skin.

Hermione felt it through his clothes, in her palm. Strangely, she didn't want to let go.

Snape's gaze was slow, deliberate. He took in all of her, drinking her in like a thirsty man in a spring. She was beautiful. She was pretty, yes, chocolate eyes wise beyond her years, lips plump and inviting, but Hermione's beauty radiated through.

Even through her tired eyes, and frizzy hair, she was undeniably beautiful. He understood why the girls always teased her, they were completely jealous of her.

He felt struck, though he worked hard to keep his face from betraying it.

He blinked, deliberately and averted his eyes. He broke contact first, and took a step back, suddenly uncomfortable. He reminded himself who she was.

She was Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, and currently overcome by a rather debilitating curse. It would have been grossly inappropriate to harbour feelings to someone afflicted in such a way anyway, and that was completely ignoring the fact that she was still, and would forever be a member of the golden trio.

Even if she could learn to stomach the sight of him, which he knew she never would, it wouldn't do for her to be seen with a suspected War criminal that most thought only got off on a pure technicality.

They walked back in awkward silence. He'd explained that the potions weren't ready, but he needed to perform some tests on her to ensure he was tailoring the potion correctly.

Whilst Snape was forcing his brain into nothing but resigned silence, Hermione's thoughts were whirring around her head, aimlessly. She was filled with ideas, like she often was right before she sat down to plan an essay.

Even in the midst of War, if someone, or even herself with a time turner, told Hermione that she'd have had an experience with a fully transformed Lupin, lived to tell the tale to former enemy Draco Malfoy, and in the same day, thought that Snape was a really rather handsome greasy dungeon bat, she'd have hexed them into next week.

It was all rather ridiculous. Rather childishly, she snuck glances of him as they walked side by side, peering through her hair at his tall, long form, examining his side profile in glances and stolen moments.

She debated feigning another dizziness, or even pretending to faint, to see if she really held any kindness for the man, and if his warmth was truly as warm as she remembered, or if it was nothing more than a childish impulse and some sort of weird by-product of everything she was living through.

She thought better of it though and scolded herself.

 _Don't be stupid Hermione, he'd know you were pretending._

She pushed the childish inclination away.

When they returned to the Potion's classroom, Hermione was intrigued to see several potions of several colours bubbling away, with one purple potion practically incandescent.

Taking a seat, Hermione watched Snape eagerly as he removed his cloak, and unbuttoned his black shirt, rolling it up to his elbows. Writing her inquisitive attraction off as nothing more but another by-product of her post war insanity, she indulged.

Gazing over him, her blood couldn't help but run cold as she spied the remnants of his dark mark on his arm.

She presumed that's what it was anyway, all that remained on his left forearm was a knotting of scar, some pink and some pale. Her eyes darted across his arms, and saw more scars, criss-crossing his arms and covering them.

Hair covered his arms too, thin but dark hairs, reminding her of his manliness. His hands looked experienced, not aged, no, that was the

wrong word, but he was, undeniably mature. Manly.

Hermione clenched her jaw and furrowed her brow, trying her hardest to remind herself that this was the same potions master who used to mock her for her frizzy hair and bucked teeth.

 _Still,_ Hermione thought to herself, _one cannot be faulted for realising the obvious. He's undeniably less awful than he seemed when I was a student s_ he concluded.

He busied himself by stirring two cauldrons anti-clockwise and then inspecting another one. He flicked his wand and a book floated off a shelf, spreading itself in front of him. When he looked up, he saw the corner of Hermione's lips upturned slightly. She was smiling.

As soon as she saw him looking at her, however, the smile disappeared. _Can't blame her._ He thought. _I'd hate looking at me too._

"I need to examine your mind, and then I'll give you some potions to take that will help me ascertain how deeply you're affected, and how far his curse already spread." Hermione nodded, and found herself frowning slightly.

"I don't remember much of that night, though. Will it stir up memories?"

"I don't know." He answered truthfully, his voice soft. One could have mistaken it for kind. Hermione nodded.

"Come here." He instructed, and she came to him.

As she looked up, and met his eyes, he delved elegantly into her mind and began searching. Memories played out in front of her, flashes of moments and emotions bubbled to the surface. 

In an instant, she was transported, her brain finally unlatching the hinge to her hidden memories.

She was back in the boathouse, letting the shock run through her veins and looking down at her Potion Professors blood on her hands, when the soft pop of apparition behind her, she turned to see two cloaked, masked figures with wands drawn.

Hermione was experiencing this all from her body, she felt her emotions and actions, but she had no ability to control her emotions or actions. Fear washed over her, then instinctively switched into passionate anger.

Her wand was in her hands without realising, and she seamlessly blocked two flashes of green light without struggling, and then returned them with a fearsome passion. When their bodies dropped to the floor, a plan formed in her head, yet she wasn't privy to its contents.

Hermione pulled the cloaks off the two men, and draping one cloak over Snape, and pulling the other over herself, apparated away. A thought filled her head, permeating through her consciousness.

 _He needs to be safe._

Hermione popped under the Whomping Willow, who had cleverly masqueraded themselves as a dead, lifeless lump.

Blasting dirt away, she hid Snape against the roots, waving her wand to coat him with hiding spells and warming charms.

Putting a stasis charm on him to ensure his condition didn't worsen, she popped back away into the walls of Hogwarts.

By the time Hermione had fought her way across the battlements and staircases, fighting and protecting as many students as she could she heard the snaking and vicious voice of Voldemort permeate into everyone's consciousness.

Moments passed seemingly at double speed as the lifeless body of Harry was carried by Hagrid. Her heart snapped in two, and waves of grief rolled over her body.

She could feel the shuddering sobs thundering through her, yet she felt seemingly unaffected.

She watched Draco being called by his parents, and saw the poor boy shaking and trying his best to steel his guard against the world which seemed to be spinning in every direction.

Her heart went out to him, forced into a life he hated. Her words spilled forth from her mouth without control, as she was just a guest in this body.

"Draco"

Hermione's words spilled from her lips and his head spun and he met her gaze. His eyes dashed across the rows of Death Eaters. The last thing she saw was Draco mouthing the word "Run" before fuzzy spurts of pain wracked through her body and tore her synapses apart.

Screams fell from her mouth, but she could barely hear them.

She was aware of the world around her descending into chaos. An almost existential awareness bore through her, as the last parts of the final battle played out around her.

Tasting blood in her mouth, Hermione grasped at her wand, trying to buy herself moments to heal and hide before returning to fight.

As she tumbled onto the wet grass, Hermione's spotty vision cleared to show the dark figures of Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange looming over her aching form.

"Nasty little bitch, aren't you?" Bellatrix said, almost seething vitriol.

She was leant over Hermione, who was lying on the grass, vision clouded with black spots. Hermione focused in on Bellatrix's frizzy, matted hair and dead behind the eyes crazy look, and whacked her squarely on the cheekbone with closed fist.

She screamed out in pain as Lucius shot a blinding purple light squarely into Hermione's chest. Hermione's body wracked with a pain that she could never fully describe but seemed to stick into every single piece of her being, mind body and soul.

Hermione couldn't breathe, but she begged with everything she could for a reprieve.

It was the worst pain Hermione ever thought capable of enduring. In the part of Hermione that wasn't experiencing this, a part of her was entirely grateful she'd forgotten this.

Exhausted, and gasping for air, Hermione could do nothing but endure as Bellatrix shot a light into her arm.

Feeling the stinging pain of a blade radiate from the light was bearable, but as it made it's way across her forearm, Hermione's heart, still wracked with pain and inescapable misery broke once more. MUDBLOOD was being etched across her arm, a permanent reminder of the curse her blood status would always be.

It was Lucius' turn to talk. His voice was dark, and evil.

"Draco told me all about you, Miss Granger. It truly will be a pleasure to defile and murder you."

Hermione's eyes focused in on the dark sky peppered with stars. If the last thing she ever saw was the beauty of the Universe, that was okay with her.

Lucius' calloused, cruel hands molested Hermione's body with disgusting fever, as Bellatrix cackled into the night.

"Betcha wish we'd just kill you, huh? You aint getting off so easy, mudblood."

A tear slipped from Hermione's eye as Bellatrix cackled again.

"I'm going to enjoy breaking you," Said Lucius as he ripped at her top and pressed his bloody, dry lips to hers. It was disgusting, and the memory it impressed into Hermione's body was enough to make her sick.

As Hermione resigned herself to her fate, a part of her found peace in the hope that Harry and Snape would live, and that Draco would not be forced into suffering a traitorous life, filled with darkness and regret.

The poor boy really didn't have it in him to pretend to be a death eater. As if reading her mind, Lucius spoke once more.

"You think you can tear my own son away from me, do you?" He asked, before striking a blow squarely into her stomach, and waving his hand, wandless magic causing a plethora of pin prick like pain to assault Hermione's body.

"You're nothing but a filthy mud blood bitch, and that's all you'll ever be. You've lived as a filthy mud blood bitch, and you'll die as a filthy mud blood bitch. I'm going to enjoy making you die."

Lucius squeezed his hand that wasn't assaulting her around her throat, as she couldn't help but hope he'd misinterpret his strength and just kill her now. As her vision faded into darkness, a voice spoke out into the cold damp recesses of her being.

"Take your hands off of her."

As the memory of Hermione dragged her eyelids open and forced her head around to look at the source of the voice, the memory of her thoughts protruded to the surface.

 _Have I died already?_ She asked. _Thank the Gods._

Snape was stood, looking half dead, haggard and ghostly. Dirt was smeared all over him.

His blood, still under Hermione's fingernails was smeared across his face. Hermione saw bruises, partially exposed under his tattered and torn clothes. Hermione closed her eyes. Snape looked like a muggle zombie.

As Hermione's chest rose and fell, pain radiated from her, and she hoped that death would not be this continuous loop of pain.

"You look like shit, Severus." Lucius spat at him, before ignoring his command, groping Hermione's breast before flicking his wrist and sending another wave of pain radiating down her legs.

"Thought you were dead." He added, seemingly unconcerned with his 'friend's passing. As he ignored Snape, Bellatrix spoke.

"He's supposed to be. The Dark Lord let Nagini feast on him after he killed him for the Elder Wand." Bellatrix sent a lazy curse in Snape's direction and he deflected it without much effort.

"Didn't work though, did it, Snape." She accused. "What did you do to it?" She flicked another inelegant curse, this time sending it squarely into Hermione, who writhed in pain.

"Nothing. I was never the true owner of the elder wand. Draco was. He won it off Dumbledore, not me."

At this,Lucius' ears picked up, and he ceased his cruel attentions of Hermione. Snape looked at her now and forced his face to remain stoic and unaffected.

Blood flowed freely from Hermione's nose, and her lip was split in two places. Her eyes were swollen and bruised, and she had a rather nasty cut above her eyebrow.

Lucius stood, and sent a cruel kick into Hermione's abdomen. Narrowing his eyes to Snape, he flexed his hand across his wand.

"Why would you have sacrificed yourself for _him_?" Lucius asked, and did nothing to hide his distain for his only son and heir. In truth, there was no love lost between the two. Lucius only used his son, bullying him and exploiting his access to Potter.

He knew Draco's heart wasn't in being a death eater, but he didn't care. Snape steeled himself and rolled his head across his shoulders. It was clear he was getting ready for a fight.

"Because he wasn't yours, or the Dark Lords. He was on the side of the light. Just like me."

Lucius' face turned to pure fury. He raised his wand to duel, but his emotions got the better of him. He was too slow. Snape didn't think twice, he rose his wand and flicked it.

A spurt of green light shot out into Lucius' chest, and he fell, lifeless to the ground.

Snape barely had time to register his successful shot before a duel began. Bellatrix clearly unhinged and manically inclined. Her fighting style was sloppy and unorganised, shooting a combination of dangerous curses and juvenile hexes in every direction.

Snape blocked most in his direction, though some hit Hermione. He did his best to deflect things from her and sent out a protection spell in her direction.

His heart was racing, seemingly pounding in his mouth. Hermione murmured into consciousness and spat blood.

He didn't know why, but he felt an urgent sense of protection towards her and felt unable to apparate away.

 _She had to survive. She had to be okay._ Snape sent a stunning spell to Bellatrix.

She deflected it, but only halfway, and it hit her shoulder, sending her backwards, tumbling over her robes.

She shrieked, with a cat like ferocity and anguish. Inside of Hermione's memories, her mind and body were reeling from the assault on her body.

She coughed, once, twice and spat blood.

Fear encompassed her, and she felt mere inches from death, certain if something or someone didn't intervene soon she'd certainly pass.

As her gasps drew shorter, and her chest rose and fell in a jagged and uneasy pattern. As Bellatrix tumbled, and caught herself, crawling dirt under her sharp nails to stop the tumble, a mans voice started yelling into the distance.

"Mione! Mione!" It was Ron, his low tone and boyish intonation carrying over the grass.

Bellatrix's head snapped up and she growled again, this time lower and full of seething hatred like acid. She met Snape's eyes and threw a cursory dart of hatred in Hermione's direction.

"This isn't over! This will never be over! I'll get you. I'll get both of you and I'll make you wish I'd killed you now." She apparated away without a sound, turning to cold black smoke in the air.

As Ron's yelling got louder and louder, Snape groaned. His entire body was nothing but aches and pains, coupled with confusion and a fatigue slipping from his very skin.

If he didn't leave now, he'd collapse, and it wouldn't do to be caught with a tortured Hermione and no rational explanation for why he wasn't dead.

In one last moment of tenderness, and without knowing why, he crouched by her side. He touched her cheek, gently. His calloused, long fingers felt like they ignited as they ran across her soft, blood-stained cheek.

Ron was running as fast as he could to the crumpled body on the ground.

He was shrieking her name over and over, like her name was somehow a spell to bring her back from the brink of destruction. He saw her, all alone, crumpled against the grass. Snape was nowhere to be seen.


End file.
